AMONG     THE 


WARWICK  DEEPING 


California 
Regional 
Facility 


LOVE   AMONG   THE   RUINS 


"FLAVIAN   OF   GAMBREVAULT   STOOD   BOUND   BEFORE   HER. 


LOVE 

AMONG     THE     RUINS 


AUTHOR   OF  "  UTHER  AND   IGRAINE  " 


Grim  work,  sirs  ;  what  would  you  ! 
War  is  the  devil. 


—  —  *  .  y. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY   W.  BEND  A 


THE   MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LTD. 
1904 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1904,  BY 
THE  OUTLOOK  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotypcd.    Published  June,  1904. 


Nortooott 

J.  S.  Cashing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


TO 

MY    MOTHER    AND    FATHER 

WITH   ALL   LOVE   AND   GRATITUDE 


SRLF 
URL 


3:: 


PART    I 


THE  branches  of  the  forest  invoked  the  sky  with  the 
supplications  of  their  thousand  hands.  Black,  tumultuous, 
terrible,  the  wilds  billowed  under  the  moon,  stifled  with 
the  night,  silent  as  a  windless  sea.  Winter,  like  a  pale 
Semiramis  of  gigantic  mould,  stood  with  her  coronet  touch- 
ing the  steely  sky.  A  mighty  company  of  stars  stared 
frost-bright  from  the  heavens. 

A  pillar  of  fire  shone  red  amid  the  chaos  of  the  woods. 
Like  a  great  torch,  a  blazing  tower  hurled  spears  of  light 
into  the  gloom.  Shadows,  vast  and  fantastic,  struggled 
like  Titans  striving  with  Destiny  in  the  silence  of  the 
night.  Their  substanceless  limbs  leapt  and  writhed 
through  the  gnarled  alleys  of  the  forest.  Overhead,  the 
moon  looked  down  with  thin  and  silver  lethargy  on  the 
havoc  kindled  by  the  hand  of  man. 

In  a  glade,  all  golden  with  the  breath  of  the  fire, 
blackened  battlements  waved  a  pennon  of  vermilion  flame 
above  the  woods.  Smoke,  in  eddying  and  gilded  clouds, 
rolled  heavenwards  to  be  silvered  into  snow  by  the  light 
of  the  moon.  The  grass  of  the  glade  shone  a  dusky, 
yet  brilliant  green ;  the  tower's  windows  were  red  as 
rubies  on  a  pall  of  sables.  About  its  base,  cottages  were 
burning  like  faggots  piled  about  a  martyr's  loins. 

Tragedy  had  touched  the  place  with  her  ruddy  hand. 
There  had  been  savage  deeds  done  in  the  silence  of  the 
woods.  Hirelings,  a  rough  pack  of  mercenaries  in  the 
service  of  the  Lord  Flavian  of  Gambrevault,  had  stolen 
upon  the  tower  of  Rual  of  Cambremont,  slain  him  before 
his  own  gate,  and  put  his  sons  to  the  sword.  A  feud  had 

3 


4  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

inspired  the  event,  a  rotten  shred  of  enmity  woven  on 
Stephen's  Eve  in  a  tavern  scuffle.  The  burning  tower 
with  its  cracking  walls  bore  witness  to  the  extravagant 
malice  of  a  rugged  age. 

Death,  that  flinty  summoner,  salves  but  the  dead,  yet 
wounds  the  living.  It  is  sport  with  him  to  pile  woe 
upon  the  shoulders  of  the  weak,  to  crown  with  thorns  the 
brows  of  those  who  mourn.  Double-handed  are  his  bless- 
ings —  a  balm  for  those  who  sleep,  an  iron  scourge  for  the 
living.  The  quick  bow  down  before  his  feet ;  only  the  dead 
fear  him  no  more  in  the  marble  philosophy  of  silence. 

On  a  patch  of  grass  within  the  golden  whirl  of  the 
fire  lay  the  body  of  Rual  of  Cambremont,  stiff  and  still. 
His  face  was  turned  to  the  heavens ;  his  white  beard 
tinctured  with  the  dye  of  death.  Beside  him  knelt  a 
girl  whose  unloosed  hair  trailed  on  his  body,  dark  and 
disastrous  as  a  sable  cloud.  The  girl's  eyes  were  tear- 
less, dry  and  dim.  Her  hands  were  at  her  throat,  clenched 
in  an  ecstasy  of  despair.  Her  head  was  bowed  down 
below  her  stooping  shoulders,  and  she  knelt  like  Thea  over 
Saturn's  shame. 

Behind  her  in  the  shadow,  his  face  grey  in  the  un- 
certain gloom,  an  old  man  watched  the  scene  with  a 
wordless  awe.  He  was  a  servant,  thin  and  meagre, 
bowed  under  Time's  burden,  a  dried  wisp  of  manhood, 
living  symbol  of  decay.  There  was  something  of  the 
dog  about  his  look,  a  dumb  loyalty  that  grieved  and  gave 
no  sound.  Beneath  the  burning  tower  in  the  heat  of  the 
flames,  these  twain  seemed  to  mimic  the  stillness  of  the 
dead. 

There  was  other  life  in  the  glade  none  the  less,  a  red 
relic  evidencing  the  handiwork  of  the  sword.  A  streak 
of  shadow  that  had  lain  motionless  in  the  yellow  glare  of 
the  fire,  stirred  in  the  rank  grass  with  a  snuffling  groan. 
There  was  a  curt  hint  in  the  sound  that  brought  Jaspar 
the  harper  round  upon  his  heel.  He  moved  two  steps, 
went  down  on  his  knees  in  the  ooze,  turned  the  man's 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  5 

head  towards  the  tower,  and  peered  into  his  face.  It 
was  gashed  from  chin  to  brow,  a  grim  mask  of  war,  con- 
torted the  more  by  the  uncertain  palpitations  of  the 
flames. 

Jaspar  had  a  flask  buckled  at  his  girdle.  He  thrust 
his  knee  under  the  man's  head,  trickled  wine  between 
his  lips,  and  waited.  The  limp  hands  began  to  twitch ; 
the  man  jerked,  drew  a  wet,  stertorous  breath,  stared  for  a 
moment  with  flickering  lids  at  the  face  above  him.  Jaspar 
craned  down,  put  his  mouth  to  the  man's  ear,  and  spoke 
to  him. 

The  fellow's  lips  quivered ;  he  stirred  a  little,  strove 
to  lift  his  head,  mumbled  thickly  like  a  man  with  a  palsied 
tongue.  Jaspar  put  his  ear  to  the  bruised  mouth  and 
listened.  He  won  words  out  of  the  grave,  for  his  rough 
face  hardened,  his  brows  were  knotted  over  the  dying 
man's  stumbling  syllables.  The  harper  shouted  in  his 
ear,  and  again  waited. 

"  Gam  —  Gambrevault,  Flavian's  men,  dead,  all  dead," 
ran  the  death  utterance.  u  Ave  Maria,  my  lips  burn  —  St. 
Eulalie  —  St.  Jude,  defend  me " 

A  cough  snapped  the  halting  appeal.  The  man  stiffened 
suddenly  in  Jaspar's  arms,  and  thrust  out  his  feet  with 
a  strong  spasm.  His  hands  clawed  the  grass  ;  his  jaw 
fell,  leaving  his  mouth  agape,  a  black  circle  of  death. 
There  was  a  last  rattling  stridor.  Then  the  head  fell 
back  over  Jaspar's  knee  with  the  neck  extended,  the  eyes 
wide  with  a  visionless  stare. 

A  shadow  fell  athwart  the  dead  man  and  the  living, 
a  shadow  edged  with  the  golden  web  of  the  fire.  Looking 
up,  Jaspar  the  harper  saw  the  girl  standing  above  him, 
staring  down  upon  the  dead  man's  body.  The  red  tower 
framed  her  figure  with  flame,  making  an  ebon  cloud  of 
her  hair,  her  body  a  pillar  of  sombre  stone.  Her  face 
was  grey,  pinched,  and  expressionless.  Youth  seemed 
frozen  for  the  moment  into  bleak  and  premature  age. 

She  bowed  down  suddenly,  her  hair  falling  forward  like 


6  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

a  cataract,  her  eyes  large  with  a  tearless  hunger.  Point- 
ing to  the  man  on  Jaspar's  knee,  she  looked  into  the 
harper's  face,  and  spoke  to  him. 

"  Quick,  the  truth.     I  fear  it  no  longer." 

Her  voice  was  toneless  and  hoarse  as  an  untuned 
string.  She  beat  her  hands  together,  and  then  stood  with 
her  fists  pressed  over  her  heart. 

«  Quick,  the  truth." 

The  old  man  turned  the  body  gently  to  the  grass,  and 
still  knelt  at  the  woman's  feet. 

"  It  is  Jean,"  he  said,  with  great  quietness,  "  Jean  the 
swineherd.  He  is  dead.  God  rest  his  soul !  " 

She  bent  forward  again  with  arm  extended,  her  voice 
deep  and  hoarse  in  her  throat. 

"  Tell  me,  who  is  it  that  has  slain  my  father  ?  " 

"  They  of  Gambrevault." 

«  Ah ! " 

Her  eyes  gleamed  behind  her  hair  as  it  fell  dishevelled 
over  her  face. 

u  And  the  rest  —  Bertrand,  my  brothers  ?  " 

Her  voice  appealed  him  with  a  gradual  fear.  Jaspar 
the  harper  bowed  his  face,  and  pointed  to  the  tower.  The 
girl  straightened,  and  stood  quivering  like  a  loosened  bow. 

"  God  !     In  there  !     And  Roland  ?  " 

Again  the  harper's  hand  went  up  with  the  slow  inevi- 
tableness  of  destiny.  The  flames,  as  beneath  the  incan- 
tations of  a  sibyl,  leapt  higher,  roaring  hungrily  towards 
the  heavens.  The  girl  swayed  away  some  paces,  her 
lips  moving  silently,  her  hair  fanned  by  the  draught,  blow- 
ing about  her  like  a  veil.  She  turned  to  the  tower,  thrust 
up  her  hands  to  it  with  a  strong  gesture  of  anguish  and 
despair. 

A  long  while  she  stood  in  silence  as  in  a  kind  of  torpor, 
gazing  at  this  red  pyre  of  the  Past,  where  memories  leapt 
heavenwards  in  a  golden  haze  of  smoke.  The  roar  of  the 
fire  was  as  the  voice  of  Fate.  She  heard  it  dim  and  dis- 
tant like  the  far  thunder  of  a  sea.  Beyond,  around,  above, 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  f 

the  gaunt  trees  clawed  at  the  stars  with  their  leafless  talons. 
Night  and  the  shadow  of  it  were  very  apparent  to  the  girl's 
soul. 

Jaspar  the  harper  stood  and  watched  her  with  a  dumb 
and  distant  awe.  Her  rigid  anguish  cowed  him  into 
impotent  silence.  The  woman's  soul  seemed  to  soar  far 
above  comfort,  following  the  saffron  smoke  into  the  silver 
aether  of  the  infinite.  The  man  stood  apart,  holding  aloof 
with  the  instinct  of  a  dog,  from  a  sorrow  that  he  could  not 
chasten.  He  was  one  of  those  dull  yet  happy  souls,  who 
carry  eloquence  in  their  eyes,  whose  tongues  are  clumsy, 
but  whose  hearts  are  warm.  He  stood  aloof  therefore 
from  Yeoland,  dead  Rual's  daughter,  pulling  his  ragged 
beard,  and  calling  in  prayer  to  the  Virgin  and  the 
saints. 

Presently  the  girl  turned  very  slowly,  as  one  whose  blood 
runs  chill  and  heavy.  Her  eyes  were  still  dry  and  crystal 
bright,  her  face  like  granite,  or  a  mask  of  ice.  The  man 
Jaspar  hid  his  glances  from  her,  and  stared  at  the  sod.  He 
was  fearful  in  measure  of  gaping  blankly  upon  so  great  a 
grief. 

"  Jaspar,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  clear  now  as  the 
keen  sweep  of  a  sword. 

He  crooked  the  knee  to  her,  stood  shading  his  eyes  with 
his  wrinkled  hand. 

"  We  alone  are  left,"  she  said. 

"  God's  will,  madame,  God's  will ;  He  giveth,  and  taketh 
away.  I,  even  I,  am  your  servant." 

Her  eyes  lightened  an  instant  as  though  red  wrath 
streamed  strongly  from  her  heart.  Her  mouth  quivered. 
She  chilled  the  mood,  however,  and  stood  motionless, 
save  for  her  hands  twining  and  twisting  in  her  hair. 

"  Does  Heaven  mock  me  ?  "  she  asked  him,  with  a  level 
bitterness. 

"  How  so,  madame  ?  "  he  answered  her ;  w  who  would 
mock  thee  at  such  an  hour  ?  " 

"  Who  indeed  ?  " 


8  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

"  Not  even  Death.  I  pray  you  be  comforted.  There  is 
a  balm  in  years." 

They  stood  silent  again  in  the  streaming  heat  and 
radiance  of  the  fire.  A  sudden  wind  had  risen.  They 
heard  it  crying  far  away  in  the  infinite  vastness  of  the 
woods.  It  grew,  rushed  near,  waxed  with  a  gradual 
clamour  till  the  bare  wilds  seemed  to  breathe  one  great 
gathering  roar.  The  flames  flew  slanting  from  the 
blackened  battlements.  The  trees  clutched  and  swayed, 
making  moan  under  the  calm  light  of  the  moon. 

The  sound  thrilled  the  girl.  Her  lips  trembled,  her  form 
dilated. 

"  Listen,"  she  said,  thrusting  up  her  hands  into  the 
night,  "the  cry  of  the  forest,  the  voice  of  the  winter 
wind.  What  say  they  but  '  vengeance  —  vengeance  — 
vengeance '  $  " 


II 

DAWN  came  vaguely  in  a  veil  of  mist.  A  heavy  dew  lay 
scintillant  upon  the  grass ;  a  great  silence  covered  the 
woods.  The  trees  stood  grim  and  gigantic  with  dripping 
boughs  in  a  vapoury  atmosphere,  and  there  seemed  no 
augury  of  sunlight  in  the  blind  grey  sky. 

A  rough  hovel  under  a  fir,  used  for  the  storing  of  wood, 
had  given  Yeoland  and  the  harper  shelter  for  the  night. 
The  sole  refuge  left  to  them  by  fire,  the  hut  had  served  its 
purpose  well  enough,  for  grief  is  not  given  to  grumbling 
over  externals  in  the  extremity  of  its  distress. 

The  girl  Yeoland  was  astir  early  with  the  first  twitter  of 
the  birds  in  the  boughs  overhead.  Jaspar  had  made  her 
a  couch  of  straw,  and  she  had  lain  there  tossing  to  and  fro 
with  no  thought  of  sleep.  The  moon  had  sunk  early  over 
the  edge  of  the  world,  and  heavy  darkness  had  wrapped  her 
anguish  close  about  her  soul,  mocking  her  with  the  staring 
of  a  dead  face.  The  burning  tower  had  ceased  to  torch 
her  vigil  towards  dawn ;  yet  there  had  been  no  fleeing 
from  the  pale  candour  of  the  night. 

A  slim,  white-faced  woman  she  stood  shivering  in  the 
doorway  of  the  hovel.  Her  eyes  were  black  and  lustrous 
—  swift,  darting  eyes  full  of  dusky  fire  and  vivid  unrest. 
Her  mouth  ran  a  red  streak,  firm  above  her  white  chin. 
Her  hair  gleamed  like  sable  steel.  The  world  was  cold 
about  her  for  the  moment,  dead  and  inert  as  her  own  heart. 
As  she  stood  there,  fine  and  fragile  as  gossamer,  the  very 
trees  seemed  to  weep  for  her  with  the  dawning  day. 

Some  hundred  paces  from  the  hut,  a  cloud  of  smoke 
mingled  with  the  mist  that  hung  about  the  blackened  walls 

9 


IO  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

of  the  forest  tower.  Its  windows  were  blind  and  frame- 
less  to  the  sky ;  a  zone  of  charred  wood  and  reeking  ashes 
circled  its  base.  The  mist  hung  above  it  like  a  ghostly 
memory.  The  place  looked  desolate  and  pitiful  enough 
in  the  meagre  light. 

The  girl  Yeoland  watched  the  incense  of  smoke  wreath- 
ing grey  spirals  overhead,  melting  symbolic  —  into  nothing- 
ness. The  pungent  scent  of  the  ruin  floated  down  to  her, 
and  became  a  recollection  for  all  time.  This  blackened 
shell  had  been  a  home  to  her,  a  bulwark,  nay,  a  cradle. 
Sanguine  life  had  run  ruddy  through  its  heart.  How  often 
had  she  seen  its  grey  brow  crowned  with  gold  by  the  mys- 
tic hierarchy  of  heaven.  She  had  found  much  joy  there 
and  little  sorrow.  A  wrinkled  face  had  taught  her  these 
many  years  to  cherish  the  innocence  of  childhood.  All 
this  was  past ;  the  present  found  her  bankrupt  of  such 
things.  The  place  had  become  but  a  coffin,  a  charnel- 
house  for  the  rotting  bones  of  love. 

As  she  brooded  in  the  doorway,  the  smite  of  a  spade 
came  ringing  to  her  on  the  misty  air.  Terse  and  rhythmic, 
it  was  like  the  sound  of  Time  plucking  the  hours  from  the 
Tree  of  Life.  She  looked  out  over  the  glade,  and  saw 
Jaspar  the  harper  digging  a  shallow  grave  under  an 
oak. 

She  went  and  watched  him,  calmly,  silently,  with  the 
utter  quiet  of  a  measureless  grief.  There  was  reason  in 
this  labour.  It  emphasised  reality;  helped  her  to  grip  the 
present.  As  the  brown  earth  tumbled  at  her  feet,  she 
remembered  how  much  she  would  bury  in  that  narrow 
forest  grave. 

The  man  Jaspar  was  a  ruddy  soul,  like  a  red  apple  in 
autumn.  His  strong  point  was  his  loyalty,  a  virtue  that 
had  stiffened  with  the  fibres  of  his  heart.  He  could  boast 
neither  of  vast  intelligence,  nor  of  phenomenal  courage, 
but  he  had  a  conscience  that  had  made  gold  of  his  whole 
rough,  stunted  body.  Your  clever  servant  is  often  a  rogue  ; 
in  the  respect  of  apt  villainy,  the  harper  was  a  fool. 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  II 

He  ceased  now  and  again  from  his  digging,  hung  his 
hooked  chin  over  his  spade,  and  snuffed  the  savour  of  the 
clean  brown  earth.  He  thrust  curt,  furtive  glances  up 
into  the  girl's  face  as  she  watched  him,  as  though  desirous 
of  reading  her  humour  or  her  health. 

"  You  are  weary,"  she  said  to  him  anon,  looking  blankly 
into  the  trench. 

The  man  wagged  his  head. 

"  Have  ye  broken  fast  ?  There  is  bread  and  dried  fruit 
in  the  hut,  and  a  pitcher  of  water." 

"I  cannot  eat  —  yet,"  she  answered  him. 

He  sighed  and  continued  his  digging.  The  pile  of  russet 
earth  increased  on  the  green  grass  at  her  feet ;  the  trench  deep- 
ened. Jaspar  moistened  his  palms,  and  toiled  on,  grunting 
as  he  hove  his  libations  of  soil  over  his  shoulder.  Presently 
he  stood  up  again  to  rest. 

"  What  will  you  do,  madame  ?  "  he  asked  her,  squinting 
at  the  clouds. 

"  Ride  out." 

"  And  whither  ?  " 

"Towards  Gilderoy  —  as  yet." 

"Ah,  ah,  a  fair  town  and  strong.  John  of  Brissac  is 
madame's  friend.  Good.  Have  we  money  ?  " 

"  Some  gold  nobles." 

They  waxed  silent  again,  and  in  a  while  the  grave  lay 
finished.  'Twas  shallow,  but  what  of  that !  It  gave 
sanctuary  enough  for  the  dead. 

They  went  together,  and  gazed  on  the  sleeping  man's 
face.  It  was  grey,  but  very  peaceful,  with  no  hint  of 
horror  thereon.  The  eyes  were  closed,  and  dew  had  starred 
the  white  hair  with  a  glistening  web.  Yeoland  knelt  and 
kissed  the  forehead.  She  shivered  and  her  hands  trembled, 
but  she  did  not  weep. 

So  they  carried  the  Lord  Rual  between  them,  for  he  was 
a  spare  man  and  frugal  of  frame,  and  laid  him  in  the  grave 
beneath  the  oak.  When  they  had  smoothed  his  hair,  and 
crossed  his  hands  upon  his  breast,  they  knelt  and  prayed  to 


12  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

the  Virgin  and  the  saints  that  in  God's  heaven  he  might 
have  peace.  The  wind  in  the  boughs  sang  a  forest 
requiem. 

When  Yeoland  had  looked  long  at  the  white  face  in  the 
trench,  she  rose  from  her  knees,  and  pointed  Jaspar  to  his 
spade.  The  harper  took  the  measure  of  her  mind.  When 
she  had  passed  into  the  shadows  of  the  trees,  he  mopped 
his  face,  and  entered  on  his  last  duty  to  the  dead.  It  was 
soon  sped,  soon  ended.  A  pile  of  clean  earth  covered  the 
place.  Jaspar  banked  the  grave  with  turf,  shouldered  his 
spade,  and  returned  to  the  hovel. 

He  found  the  girl  Yeoland  seated  on  a  fallen  tree  in  the 
forest,  her  ebon  hair  and  apple-green  gown  gleaming  under 
the  sweeping  boughs.  Her  cheeks  were  white  as  windflowers, 
her  eyes  full  of  a  swimming  gloom.  She  raised  her  chin, 
and  questioned  the  man  mutely  with  a  look  that  smouldered 
under  her  arched  brows. 

"  Jaspar  ? " 

"  Madame " 

"  Have  you  entered  the  tower  ?  " 

The  man's  wrinkled  face  winced  despite  his  years. 

"  Would  you  have  me  go  ? "  he  asked  her  in  a  hoarse 
undertone. 

She  looked  into  the  vast  mazes  of  the  woods,  shuddered 
in  thought,  and  was  silent.  Her  mouth  hardened ;  the 
desire  melted  from  her  eyes. 

"  No,"  she  said  anon,  turning  her  hood  forward,  and 
drawing  a  green  cloak  edged  with  sables  about  her,  "  what 
would  it  avail  us  ?  Let  us  sally  at  once." 

A  little  distance  away,  their  horses,  that  had  been  hob- 
bled over  night,  stood  grazing  quietly  on  a  patch  of  grass 
under  the  trees.  One  was  a  great  grey  mare,  the  other  a 
bay  jennet,  glossy  as  silk.  Jaspar  caught  them.  He  was 
long  over  the  girths  and  bridles,  for  his  hands  were  stiff, 
and  his  eyes  dim.  When  he  returned,  Yeoland  was  still 
standing  like  a  statue,  staring  at  the  blackened  tower  reek- 
ing amid  the  trees. 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  13 

"  Truly,  they  have  burnt  the  anguish  of  it  into  my  heart 
with  fire,"  she  said,  as  Jaspar  held  her  stirrup. 

"  God  comfort  you,  madame  !  " 

"  Let  us  go,  Jaspar,  let  us  go." 

"  And  whither,  lady  ?  " 

"  Where  revenge  may  lead." 

The  day  brightened  as  they  plunged  down  into  the  forest. 
A  light  breeze  rent  the  vapours,  and  a  shimmer  of  sunlight 
quivered  through  the  haze.  The  tree-tops  began  to  glisten 
gold ;  and  there  was  life  in  the  deepening  promise  of  the 
sky.  The  empty  woods  rolled  purple  on  the  hills ;  the 
greensward  shone  with  a  veil  of  gossamer;  the  earth  grew 
glad. 

The  pair  had  scant  burden  of  speech  upon  their  lips  that 
morning.  They  were  still  benumbed  by  the  violence  of  the 
night,  and  death  still  beckoned  to  their  souls.  Fate  had 
smitten  them  with  such  incredible  and  ponderous  brevity. 
On  the  dawn  of  yesterday,  they  had  ridden  out  hawk  on 
wrist  into  the  wilds,  lost  the  bird  in  a  long  flight,  and  turned 
homeward  when  evening  was  darkening  the  east.  From  a 
hill  they  had  seen  the  tower  lifting  its  flame  like  a  red  and 
revengeful  finger  to  heaven.  They  had  hastened  on,  with 
the  glare  of  the  fire  spasmodic  and  lurid  over  the  trees.  In 
one  short  hour  they  had  had  speech  with  death,  and  came 
point  to  point  with  the  bleak  sword  of  eternity. 

What  wonder  then  that  they  rode  like  mutes  to  a  burial, 
still  of  tongue  and  dull  of  heart  ?  Life  and  the  zest  thereof 
were  at  low  ebb,  colourless  as  a  wintry  sea.  Joy's  crimson 
wings  were  smirched  and  broken ;  the  lute  of  youth  was 
unstrung.  A  granite  sky  had  drawn  low  above  their  heads, 
and  to  the  girl  a  devil  ruled  the  heavens. 

Before  noon  they  had  threaded  the  wild  waste  of  wood- 
land that  girded  the  tower  like  a  black  lagoon.  They  came 
out  from  the  trees  to  a  heath,  a  track  that  struck  green  and 
purple  into  the  west,  and  boasted  nought  that  could  infringe 
the  blue  monotony  of  the  sky.  It  was  a  wild  region,  swept 
by  a  wind  that  sighed  perpetually  amid  the  gorse  and  heather. 


14  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

By  the  black  rim  of  the  forest  they  had  dismounted  and 
partaken  of  bread  and  water  before  pushing  on  with  a  list- 
less persistence  that  won  many  miles  to  their  credit. 

The  man  Jaspar  was  a  phlegmatic  soul  in  the  hot  sphere 
of  action.  He  was  a  circumspect  being  who  preferred 
heading  for  the  blue  calm  of  a  haven  in  stormy  weather, 
to  thrusting  out  into  the  tossing  spume  of  the  unknown. 
The  girl  Yeoland,  on  the  contrary,  had  an  abundant  spirit, 
and  an  untamed  temper.  Her  black  eyes  roved  restlessly 
over  the  world,  and  she  tilted  her  chin  in  the  face  of  Fate. 
Jaspar,  knowing  her  fibre,  feared  for  her  moods  with  the 
more  level  prudence  of  stagnant  blood.  Her  obstinacy 
was  a  hazardous  virtue,  hawk-like  in  sentiment,  not  given 
to  perching  on  the  boughs  of  reason.  Moreover,  being 
cumbered  with  a  generous  burden  of  pity,  he  was  in  mortal 
dread  of  wounding  her  pale  proud  grief. 

By  way  of  being  diplomatic,  he  began  by  hinting  that 
there  were  necessities  in  life,  trivial  no  doubt,  but  inevitable, 
as  sleep  and  supper. 

"  Lord  John  of  Brissac  is  your  friend,"  he  meandered, 
"a  strong  lord,  and  a  great;  moreover,  he  hates  those  of 
Gambrevault,  God  chasten  their  souls !  Fontenaye  is  no 
long  ride  from  Gilderoy.  Madame  will  lodge  there  till 
she  can  come  by  redress  ? " 

Madame  had  no  thought  of  being  beholden  to  the 
gentleman  in  question.  Jaspar  understood  as  much  from 
a  very  brief  debate.  Lord  John  of  Brissac  was  forbidden 
favour,  being  as  black  a  pard  when  justly  blazoned  as  any 
seigneur  of  Gambrevault.  The  harper's  chin  wagged  on 
maugre  her  contradiction. 

"  We  have  bread  for  a  day,"  he  chirped,  dropping  upon 
banalities  by  way  of  seeming  wise.  "  The  nights  are  cold, 
madame,  damp  as  a  marsh.  As  for  the  water-pot " 

"  Water  may  be  had  —  for  the  asking." 

"  And  bread  ?  " 

" 1  have  money." 

"  Then  we  ride  for  Gilderoy  ?  " 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  KUINS  15 

The  assumption  was  made  with  an  excellent  unction 
that  betrayed  the  seeming  sincerity  of  the  philosopher. 
Yeoland  stared  ahead  over  her  horse's  ears,  with  a  clear 
disregard  for  Jaspar  and  his  discretion. 

"  We  are  like  leaves  blown  about  in  autumn,"  she  said  to 
him,  "  wanderers  with  fortune.  You  have  not  grasped  my 
temper.  I  warrant. you,  there  is  method  in  me." 

Jaspar  looked  blank. 

"  Strange  method,  madame,  to  ride  nowhere,  to  com- 
pass nothing." 

She  turned  on  him  with  a  sudden  rapid  gleam  out  of  her 
passionate  eyes. 

"  Nothing  !     You  call  revenge  nothing  ?  " 

The  harper  appealed  to  his  favourite  saint. 

"St.  Jude  forfend  that  madame  should  follow  such  a 
marsh  fire,"  he  said. 

They  had  drawn  towards  the  margin  of  the  heath. 
Southwards  it  sloped  to  the  rim  of  a  great  pine  forest, 
that  seemed  to  clasp  it  with  ebonian  arms.  The  place 
was  black,  mysterious,  impenetrable,  fringed  with  a  pali- 
sading of  dark  stiff  trunks,  but  all  else,  a  vast  undulation 
of  sombre  plumes.  Its  spires  waved  with  the  wind. 
There  was  a  soundless  awe  about  its  sable  galleries,  a 
saturnine  gloom  that  hung  like  a  curtain.  In  the  vague 
distance,  a  misty  height  seemed  to  struggle  above  the  ocean 
of  trees,  like  the  back  of  some  great  beast. 

Yeoland,  keen  of  face,  reined  in  her  jennet,  and  pointed 
Jaspar  to  this  landscape  of  sombre  hues.  There  was  an 
alert  lustre  in  her  eyes ;  she  drew  her  breath  more  quickly, 
like  one  whose  courage  kindles  at  the  cry  of  a  trumpet. 

"  The  Black  Wild,"  she  said  with  a  little  hiss  of  eager- 
ness, and  a  glance  that  was  almost  fierce  under  her  coal- 
black  brows. 

Jaspar  shook  his  head  with  the  cumbersome  wit  of  an  ogre. 

"  Ha,  yes,  madame,  a  bloody  region,  packed  with 
rumours,  dark  as  its  own  trees ;  no  stint  of  terror,  I  war- 
rant ye.  See  yonder,  the  road  to  Gilderoy." 


1 6  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

The  girl  in  the  green  cloak  seemed  strongly  stirred 
by  her  own  thoughts.  Her  face  had  a  wild  elfin  look  for 
the  moment,  a  beautiful  and  daring  insolence  that  deified 
her  figure. 

"  And  Gilderoy  ?  "  she  said  abstractedly. 

"  Gilderoy  lies  south-east ;  Gambrevault  south-west 
many  leagues.  Southwards,  one  would  find  the  sea,  in  due 
season.  Eastwards,  we  touch  Geraint,  and  the  Roman 
road." 

Yeoland  nodded  as  though  her  mind  were  already  ada- 
mant in  the  matter. 

"  We  will  take  to  the  forest,"  ran  her  decretal. 

Here  was  crass  sentiment  extravagantly  in  the  ascend- 
ant, mad  wilfulness  pinioning  forth  like  a  bat  into  gloom. 
Jaspar  screwed  his  mouth  into  a  red  knot,  blinked  and 
waxed  argumentative  with  a  vehemence  that  did  his  cir- 
cumspection credit. 

"  A  mad  scheme." 

u  What  better  harbour  for  the  night  than  yonder  trees  ?  " 

"  Who  will  choose  us  a  road  ?     I  pray  you  consider  it." 

Yeoland  answered  him  quietly  enough.  She  had  set  her 
will  on  the  venture,  was  in  a  desperate  mood,  and  could 
therefore  scorn  reason. 

"Jaspar,  my  friend,"  she  said,  "I  am  in  a  wild  humour, 
and  ripe  for  the  wild  region.  Peril  pleases  me.  The 
unknown  ever  draweth  the  heart,  making  promise  of 
greater,  stranger  things.  What  have  I  to  lose  ?  If  you 
play  the  craven,  I  can  go  alone." 


Ill 

THE  avenues  of  the  pine  forest  engulfed  the  harper  and 
the  lady.  The  myriad  crowded  trunks  hemmed  them  with 
a  stubborn  and  impassive  gloom.  A  faint  wind  moved  in 
the  tree-tops.  Dim  aisles  struck  into  an  ever-deepening 
mystery  of  shadow,  as  into  the  dark  mazes  of  a  dream. 

The  wild  was  as  some  primaeval  waste,  desolate  and  ter- 
rible, a  vast  flood  of  sombre  green  rolling  over  hill  and 
valley.  Its  thickets  plunged  midnight  into  the  bosom  of 
day.  On  the  hills,  the  trees  stood  like  traceried  pinnacles, 
spears  blood-red  in  the  sunset,  or  splashed  with  the  glitter- 
ing magic  of  the  moon.  There  were  dells  sunk  deep 
beneath  crags ;  choked  with  dense  darkness,  imsifted  by 
the  sun.  Winding  alleys  white  with  pebbles  as  with  the 
bones  of  the  dead,  wound  through  seething  seas  of  gorse. 
In  summer,  heather  sucked  with  purple  lips  at  the  tapestries 
of  moss  blazoning  the  ground,  bronze,  green,  and  gold.  It 
was  a  wild  region,  and  mysterious,  a  shadowland  moaned 
over  by  the  voice  of  a  distressful  wind. 

Yeoland  held  southwards  by  the  gilded  vane  of  the  sun. 
She  had  turned  back  her  hood  upon  her  shoulders,  and 
fastened  her  black  hair  over  her  bosom  with  a  brooch  of 
amethysts.  The  girl  was  wise  in  woodlore  and  the  phi- 
losophies of  nature.  The  sounds  and  sights  of  the  forest 
were  like  a  gorgeous  missal  to  her,  blazoned  with  all  man- 
ner of  magic  colours.  She  knew  the  moods  of  hawk  and 
hound,  had  camped  often  under  the  steely  stare  of  a  winter 
sky,  had  watched  the  many  phases  of  the  dawn.  Hers  was 
a  nature  ripe  for  the  hazardous  intent  of  life.  It  was  she 
who  led,  not  Jaspar.  The  harper  followed  her  with  a 


1 8  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

martyred  reason,  having,  for  all  his  discontent,  some  faith 
in  her  keen  eyes  and  the  delicate  decision  of  her  chin. 

There  was  a  steady  dejection  in  the  girl's  mood  —  a 
dejection  starred,  however,  with  red  wrath  like  sparks 
glowing  upon  tinder.  She  was  no  Agnes,  no  Amorette, 
mere  pillar  of  luscious  beauty.  Her  eyes  were  as  blue- 
black  shields,  flashing  with  many  sheens  in  the  face  of 
day.  The  flaming  tower,  the  dead  figure  in  the  forest 
grave,  had  thrust  the  gentler  part  out  of  her  being.  She 
was  miserable,  mute,  yet  full  of  a  volcanic  courage. 

As  for  the  harper,  a  rheumy  dissatisfaction  pervaded  his 
temper.  His  blood  ran  cold  as  a  toad's  in  winter  weather. 
He  blew  upon  his  fingers,  dreaming  of  inglenooks  and  hot 
posset,  and  the  casual  luxuries  the  forest  did  not  promise. 
Yeoland  considered  not  the  old  man's  babblings.  Her 
heart  looked  towards  the  dawn,  and  knew  nothing  of  the 
twilight  under  the  dark  eaves  of  age. 

They  had  pressed  a  mile  or  more  into  the  waste,  and  the 
day  was  waxing  sere  and  yellow  in  the  west.  Before  them 
ran  a  huge  thicket,  its  floor  splashed  with  tawny  splendours, 
the  sable  plumes  touched  with  gold  by  the  sun.  Its  deep 
bosom  hung  full  of  purple  gloom,  dusted  with  amber,  wild 
and  windless. 

A  sudden  "  hist "  from  his  lady's  lips  made  the  harper 
start  in  the  saddle.  Her  hand  had  snatched  at  his  bridle. 
Both  horses  came  to  a  halt.  The  man  looked  at  her  as 
they  sat  knee  to  knee ;  she  was  alert  and  vigilant,  her  eyes 
bright  as  the  eyes  of  a  hawk. 

"  Marked  you  that  ? "  she  said  to  him  in  a  whisper. 

Jaspar  gave  her  a  vacant  stare  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Nothing  ? " 

"  Boughs  swaying  in  the  wind,  no  more." 

Yeoland  enlightened  him. 

"Tush.  There's  no  wind  moving.  A  glimmer  of 
armour,  yonder,  up  the  slope." 

"  Holy  Jude  !  " 

"  A  flash,  it  has  gone." 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  19 

They  held  silent  under  the  drooping  boughs,  listening, 
with  noiseless  breath.  The  breeze  made  mysterious  mur- 
murings  with  a  vague  unrest ;  now  and  again  a  twig 
cracked,  or  some  forest  sound  floated  down  like  a  filmy 
moth  on  the  quiet  air.  The  trees  were  dumb  and  satur- 
nine, as  though  resenting  suspicion  of  their  sable  aisles. 

Jaspar,  peering  over  his  shoulder,  jerked  out  a  word  of 
warning.  Yeoland,  catching  the  monosyllable  from  his 
lips,  and  following  his  stare,  glanced  back  into  the  eternal 
shadows  of  the  place. 

"  I  see  nothing,"  she  said. 

Jaspar  answered  her  slowly,  his  eyes  still  at  gaze. 

"  A  shadow  slipping  from  trunk  to  trunk." 

"  Where  ?  " 

11 1  see  it  no  longer.     The  saints  succour  us  !  " 

Yeoland's  face  was  dead  white  under  her  hair;  her 
mouth  gaped  like  a  circle  of  jet.  She  listened  constantly. 
Her  head  moved  in  stately  fashion  on  her  slim  neck,  as 
she  shot  glances  hither  and  thither  into  the  glooms,  her 
eyes  challenging  the  world.  She  felt  peril,  but  was  no 
craven  in  the  matter  —  a  contrast  to  Jaspar,  who  shook  as 
with  an  ague. 

The  harper's  distress  broke  forth  into  petulant  declaiming. 

"  Trapped,"  he  said ;  u  I  could  have  guessed  as  much, 
with  all  this  fooling.  These  skulkers  are  like  crows  round 
carrion.  Shall  we  lose  much,  madame  ?  " 

41  Gold,  Jaspar,  if  they  are  content  with  such.  What 
if  they  should  be  of  Gambrevault !  " 

The  harper  gave  a  quivering  whistle,  a  shrill  breath 
between  his  teeth,  eloquent  of  the  unpleasant  savour  of 
such  a  chance.  It  was  beyond  him  for  the  moment 
whether  he  preferred  being  held  up  by  a  footpad,  to  being 
bullied  by  some  ruffian  of  a  feudatory.  He  had  a  mere 
bodkin  of  a  dagger  in  his  belt,  and  little  lust  for  the  letting 
of  blood. 

u  'Tis  a  chance,  madame,"  he  said,  with  a  certain  lame 
sententiousness,  "  that  had  not  challenged  my  attention. 


2O  LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS 

Say  nothing  of  Cambremont ;  one  word  would  send  us  to 
the  devil." 

"  Am  I  a  fool  ?  Since  these  gentlemen  will  not  declare 
themselves,  let  us  hold  on  and  tempt  their  purpose." 

Thinking  to  see  the  swirl  of  shadows  under  the  trees, 
the  glimmer  of  steel  in  the  forest's  murk,  they  rode  on  at 
a  lifeless  trot.  Nothing  echoed  to  their  thoughts.  The 
woods  stood  impassive,  steeped  in  solitude.  There  was  a 
strange  atmosphere  of  peace  about  the  place  that  failed  to 
harmonise  their  fears.  Yet  like  a  prophecy  of  wind  there 
stole  in  persistently  above  the  muffled  tramp  of  hoofs,  a 
dull,  characterless  sound,  touched  with  the  crackling  of 
rotten  wood,  that  seemed  to  hint  at  movement  in  the 
shadows. 

The  pair  pressed  on  vigilant  and  silent.  Anon  they 
came  to  a  less  multitudinous  region,  where  the  trees 
thinned,  and  a  columned  ride  dwindled  into  infinite  gloom. 
Betwixt  the  black  stems  of.  the  trees  flashed  sudden  a 
streak  of  scarlet,  torchlike  in  the  shadows.  An  armed 
rider  in  a  red  cloak,  mounted  on  a  sable  horse,  kept  vigil 
silently  between  the  boles  of  two  great  firs.  He  was  im- 
mobile as  rock,  his  spear  set  rigid  on  his  thigh,  his  red 
plume  sweeping  the  green  fringes  of  the  trees. 

This  solemn  figure  stood  like  a  sanguinary  challenge  to 
Yeoland  and  the  harper.  Here  at  least  was  something 
tangible  in  the  flesh,  more  than  a  mere  shadow.  The  pair 
drew  rein,  questioning  each  other  mutely  with  their  eyes, 
finding  no  glimmer  of  hope  on  either  face. 

As  they  debated  with  their  glances  over  the  hazard,  a 
voice  came  crying  weirdly  through  the  wood. 

"  Pass  on,"  it  said,  "  pass  on.  Pay  ye  the  homage  of  the 
day." 

This  forest  cry  seemed  to  loosen  the  dilemma.  Cer- 
tainly it  bore  wisdom  in  its  counsel,  seeing  that  it  advised 
the  inevitable,  and  ordered  action.  Yeoland,  bankrupt  of 
resource,  took  the  unseen  herald  at  his  word,  and  rode  on 
slowly  towards  the  knight  on  the  black  horse. 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  21 

The  man  abode  their  coming  like  a  statue,  his  red  cloak 
shining  sensuously  under  the  sombre  green  of  the  boughs. 
A  canopy  of  golden  fire  arched  him  in  the  west.  He  sat 
his  horse  with  a  certain  splendid  arrogance,  that  puzzled 
not  a  little  the  conjectures  of  Yeoland  and  the  harper. 
This  was  neither  the  mood  nor  the  equipment  of  a  vaga- 
bond soul.  The  fine  spirit  of  the  picture  hinted  briskly 
at  Gambrevault. 

The  pair  came  to  a  halt  under  the  two  firs.  The  man 
towered  above  them  on  his  horse,  grim  and  gigantic,  a 
great  statue  in  black  and  burnished  steel.  His  salade  with 
beaver  lowered  shone  ruddy  in  the  sun.  His  saddle  was 
of  scarlet  leather,  bossed  with  brass  and  fringed  with  sable 
cord.  Gules  flamed  on  his  shield,  devoid  of  all  device,  a 
strong  wedge  of  colour,  bare  and  brave. 

The  girl  caught  the  gleam  of  the  man's  eyes  through  the 
grid  of  his  vizor.  He  appeared  to  be  considering  her  much 
at  his  leisure  with  a  keen  silence,  that  was  not  wholly 
comforting.  Palpably  he  was  in  no  mood  for  haste,  or  for 
such  casual  courtesies  that  might  have  ebbed  from  his 
soundless  strength. 

Full  two  minutes  passed  before  a  deep  voice  rolled 
sonorously  from  the  cavern  of  the  casque. 

u  Madame,"  it  said,  u  be  good  enough  to  consider  your- 
self my  prisoner.  Rest  assured  that  I  bring  you  no  peril 
save  the  peril  of  an  empty  purse." 

There  was  a  certain  powerful  complacency  in  the  voice, 
pealing  with  the  deep  clamour  of  a  bell  through  the  silence 
of  the  woods.  The  man  seemed  less  ponderous  and  sinis- 
ter, giant  that  he  was.  The  girl's  eyes  fenced  with  him 
fearlessly  under  the  trees. 

u  Presumably,"  she  said  to  him,  "  you  are  a  notorious 
fellowj  I  have  the  misfortune  to  be  ignorant  of  these 
parts  and  their  possessors.  Be  so  courteous  as  to  unhelm 
to  me." 

Her  tone  did  not  stir  the  man  from  his  reserve  of  gravity. 
Her  words  were  indeed  like  so  many  ripples  breaking 


22  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

against  a  rock.  The  voice  retorted  to  her  calmly  from 
the  helmet. 

"  Madame,  leave  matters  to  my  discretion." 

She  smiled  in  his  face  despite  herself,  a  smile  half  of 
petulance,  half  of  relish. 

"  You  pretend  to  wisdom,  sir." 

"  Forethought,  madame." 

"  Am  I  your  prisoner?  " 

u  No  new  thing,  madame ;  I  have  possessed  you  since 
you  ventured  into  these  shadows." 

He  made  a  gesture  with  his  spear,  holding  it  at  arm's 
length  above  his  head,  where  it  quivered  like  a  reed  in  his 
staunch  grip.  A  sound  like  the  moving  of  a  distant  wind 
arose.  The  dark  alleys  of  the  wood  grew  silvered  with 
a  circlet  of  steel.  The  shafts  of  the  sunset  flickered  on 
pike  and  bassinet,  gleaming  amid  the  verdured  glooms. 
Again  the  man's  spear  shook,  again  the  noise  as  of  a  wind, 
and  the  girdle  of  steel  melted  into  the  shadows. 

u  Madame  is  satisfied  ? " 

She  sucked  in  her  breath  through  her  red  lips,  and  was 
mute. 

u  Leave  matters  to  my  discretion.  You  there,  in  the 
brown  smock,  fall  back  twenty  paces.  Madame,  I  wait 
for  you.  Let  us  go  cheek  by  jowl." 

The  man  wheeled  his  horse,  shook  his  spear,  hurled  a 
glance  backward  over  his  shoulder  into  the  woods.  There 
was  no  gainsaying  him  for  the  moment.  Yeoland,  bend- 
ing to  necessity,  sent  Jaspar  loitering,  while  she  flanked 
the  black  destrier  with  her  brown  jennet.  She  debated 
keenly  within  herself  whither  this  adventure  could  be 
leading  her,  as  she  rode  on  with  this  unknown  rider  into 
the  wilds. 

The  man  in  the  red  cloak  was  wondrous  mute  at  first, 
an  iron  pillar  of  silence  gleaming  under  the  trees.  The 
girl  knew  that  he  was  watching  her  from  behind  his  salade, 
for  she  caught  often  the  white  glimmer  of  his  stare.  He 
bulked  largely  in  the  descending  gloom,  a  big  man  deep 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  23 

of  chest,  with  shoulders  like  the  broad  ledges  of  some  sea- 
washed  rock.  He  was  richly  appointed  both  as  to  his 
armour  and  his  trappings ;  to  Yeoland  his  shield  showed 
a  blank  face,  and  he  carried  no  crest  or  token  in  his  helmet. 

They  had  ridden  two  furlongs  or  more  before  the  man 
stepped  from  his  pedestal  of  silence.  He  had  been  study- 
ing the  girl  with  the  mood  of  a  philosopher,  had  seen  her 
stark,  strained  look,  the  woe  in  her  eyes,  the  firm  closure 
of  her  lips.  The  strong  pride  of  grief  in  her  had  pleased 
him ;  moreover  he  had  had  good  leisure  to  determine  the 
character  of  her  courage.  His  first  words  were  neither 
very  welcome  to  the  girl's  ears  nor  productive  of  great 
comfort,  so  far  as  her  apprehensions  were  concerned. 
Bluntly  came  the  calm  challenge  from  the  casque. 

"  Daughter  of  Rual  of  Cambremont,  you  have  changed 
little  these  five  years." 

Yeoland  gave  the  man  a  stare.  Seeing  that  his  features 
were  screened  by  his  helmet,  the  glance  won  her  little  satis- 
faction. She  knew  that  he  was  watching  her  to  his  own 
profit,  and  her  discovery,  for  the  reflex  look  she  had  flashed 
at  him,  must  have  told  him  all  he  desired,  if  he  had  any 
claim  to  being  considered  observant.  There  was  that  also 
in  the  tone  and  tenor  of  his  words  that  implied  that  he  had 
ventured  no  mere  tentative  statement,  but  had  spoken  to 
assure  her  that  her  name  and  person  were  not  unknown 
to  him.  Acting  on  the  impression,  she  tacitly  confessed  to 
the  justice  of  his  charge. 

"  Palpably,"  she  said,  "  my  face  is  known  to  you." 

"  Even  so,  madame." 

"  How  long  will  you  hold  me  at  a  disadvantage  ?  " 

"  Is  ignorance  burdensome  ?  " 

She  imagined  of  a  sudden  that  the  man  was  smiling 
behind  his  beaver.  Being  utterly  serious  herself,  she 
discovered  an  illogical  lack  of  sympathy  in  the  stranger's 
humour.  Moreover  she  was  striving  to  spell  Gambre- 
vault  from  the  alphabet  of  word  and  gesture,  and  to  come 
to  an  understanding  with  the  doubts  of  the  moment. 


24  LOVE   AMONG    THE  RUINS 

"  Messire,"  she  began. 

"  Madame,"  he  retorted. 

"  Are  you  mere  stone  ?  " 

For  answer  he  lapsed  into  sudden  reflection. 

"  It  is  five  years  ago  this  Junetide,"  he  said,  "  since  the 
King  and  the  Court  came  to  Gilderoy." 

"  Gilderoy  ?  " 

"  You  know  the  town,  madame  ?  " 

She  stared  back  upon  a  sudden  vision  of  the  past,  a  past 
gorgeous  with  the  crimson  fires  of  youth.  That  Junetide 
she  had  worn  a  new  green  gown,  a  silver  girdle,  a  red  rose 
in  her  hair.  There  had  been  jousting  in  the  Gilderoy 
meadows,  much  braying  of  trumpets,  much  splendour, 
much  pomp  of  arms.  She  remembered  the  scent  and 
colour  of  it  all;  the  blaze  of  tissues  of  gold  and  green, 
purple  and  azure.  She  remembered  the  flickering  of  a 
thousand  pennons  in  the  wind,  the  fair  women  thronging 
the  galleries  like  flowers  burdening  a  bowl.  The  vision 
came  to  her  undefiled  for  the  moment,  a  dream-memory, 
calm  as  the  first  pure  pageant  of  spring. 

"  And  you,  messire  ?  "  she  said,  with  more  colour  of  face 
and  soul. 

"  Rode  in  the  King's  train." 

«  A  noble  ?  " 

"  Do  I  bulk  for  a  cook  or  a  falconer  ?  " 

"  No,  no.     Yet  you  remember  me  ?  " 

u  As  it  were  yesterday,  walking  in  the  meadows  at  your 
father's  side  —  your  father,  that  Rual  who  carried  the  banner 
when  the  King's  men  stormed  Gaerlent  these  forty  years 
ago.  Not,  madame,  that  I  followed  that  war ;  I  was  a  mass 
of  swaddling-clothes  puking  in  a  cradle.  So  we  grow  old." 

The  girl's  face  had  darkened  again  on  the  instant. 
The  man  in  the  red  cloak  saw  her  eyes  grow  big  of 
pupil,  her  lips  straightened  into  a  colourless  line.  She 
held  her  head  high,  and  stared  into  the  purple  gloom  of 
the  woods.  Memories  were  with  her.  The  present  had 
an  iron  hand  upon  her  heart. 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  2$ 

"Time  changes  many  things,"  he  said,  with  a  discretion 
that  desired  to  soften  the  silence ;  "  we  go  from  cradle  to 
throne  in  one  score  years,  from  life  to  clay  in  a  moment. 
Pay  no  homage  to  circumstance.  The  wave  covers  the 
rock,  but  the  granite  shows  again  its  glistening  poll  when 
the  water  has  fallen.  A  Hercules  can  strangle  Fate.  As 
for  me,  I  know  not  whether  I  have  soared  in  the  estimation 
of  heaven ;  yet  I  can  swear  that  I  have  lost  much  of  the 
vagabond,  sinful  soul  that  straddled  my  shoulders  in  the 
past." 

There  was  a  warm  ruggedness  about  the  man,  a  flippant 
self-knowledge,  that  touched  the  girl's  fancy.  He  was 
either  a  strong  soul,  or  an  utter  charlatan,  posing  as  a 
Diogenes.  She  preferred  the  former  picture  in  her  heart, 
and  began  to  question  him  again  with  a  species  of  pictu- 
resque insolence. 

u  I  presume,  messire,"  she  said,  "  that  you  have  some 
purpose  in  life.  From  my  brief  dealings  with  you,  I  should 
deem  you  a  very  superior  footpad.  I  gather  that  it  is  your 
intention  to  rob  me.  I  confess  that  you  seem  a  gentleman 
at  the  business." 

The  man  of  the  red  cloak  laughed  in  his  helmet. 

"  To  be  frank,  madame,"  he  said,  "  you  may  dub  me  a 
gatherer  of  taxes." 

«  Explain." 

"  Being  unfortunates  and  outcasts  from  the  lawful  ways 
of  life,  my  men  and  I  seek  to  remedy  the  injustice  of  the 
world  by  levying  toll  on  folk  more  happy  than  ourselves." 

"  Then  you  condemn  me  as  fortunate  ?  " 

"  Your  defence,  madame." 

The  girl  smiled  with  her  lips,  but  her  eyes  were  hard  and 
bright  as  steel. 

"  I  might  convince  you  otherwise,"  she  said,  "  but  no 
matter.  Why  should  I  be  frank  with  a  thief,  even  though 
he  be  nobly  born  ?  " 

"  Because,  madame,  the  thief  may  be  of  service  to  the 
lady." 


26  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

"  I  have  little  silver  for  your  wallet." 

"  Am  I  nothing  but  a  money-bag  !  " 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  straight  stare ;  her  voice 
was  level,  even  imperious. 

"  Put  up  your  vizor,"  she  said  to  him. 

The  man  in  the  black  harness  hesitated,  then  obeyed  her. 
She  could  see  little  of  his  face,  however,  save  that  it  was 
bronzed,  and  that  the  eyes  were  very  masterful.  She  ven- 
tured further  in  the  argument,  being  bent  on  fathoming  the 
baser  instincts  of  the  business. 

"  Knight  of  the  red  shield,"  she  said. 

"  Madame  ?  " 

"  I  ask  you  an  honest  question.  If  you  would  serve  me, 
speak  the  truth,  and  let  me  know  my  peril.  Are  you  the 
Lord  Flavian  of  Gambrevault,  or  no  ?  " 

The  man  never  hesitated  an  instant.  There  was  no 
wavering  to  cast  doubt  upon  his  sincerity,  or  upon  his 
intelligence  as  a  liar. 

"  No,  madame,"  he  answered  her,  "  I  am  not  the  Lord 
of  Gambrevault  and  Avalon,  and  may  I,  for  the  sake  of  my 
own  neck,  never  come  single-handed  within  his  walls.  I 
have  an  old  feud  with  the  lords  of  Gambrevault,  and  when 
the  chance  comes,  I  shall  settle  it  heavily  to  my  credit.  If 
you  have  any  ill  to  say  of  the  gentleman,  pray  say  it,  and 
be  happy  in  my  sympathy." 

"  Ha,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  flash  of  malice, "  I  would 
give  my  soul  for  that  fellow's  head." 

"  So,"  quoth  the  man,  with  a  keen  look,  "  that  would  be  a 
most  delectable  bargain." 


IV 

THE  stems  thinned  about  them  suddenly,  and  the  sky 
grew  great  beyond  a  more  meagre  screen  of  boughs.  To 
the  west,  breaking  the  blood-red  canopy  with  an  edge  of 
agate,  rocks  towered  heavenwards,  smiting  golden-fanged 
into  a  furnace  of  splendour.  Waves  of  light  beat  in  spray 
upon  the  billowy  masses  of  the  trees,  dying  in  the  east  into 
a  majestic  mask  of  gloom. 

Yeoland  and  the  man  in  red  came  forth  into  a  little 
glade,  hollowed  by  the  waters  of  a  rush-edged  pool.  A 
stream,  a  scolloped  sheet  of  foam,  stumbled  headlong  into 
the  mere,  vanishing  beyond  like  a  frail  white  ghost  into 
the  woods.  A  fire  danced  in  the  open,  and  under  the 
trees  stood  a  pavilion  of  red  cloth. 

The  man  dismounted  and  held  the  girl's  stirrup.  A 
quick  glance  round  the  glade  had  shown  her  bales  of  mer- 
chandise, littering  the  green  carpet  of  the  place,  horses 
tethered  in  the  wood,  men  moving  like  gnomes  about  the 
fire.  Even  as  she  dismounted,  streaks  of  steel  shone  out 
in  the  surrounding  shadows.  Armed  men  streamed  in, 
and  piled  their  pikes  and  bills  about  the  pines. 

At  the  western  end  of  the  glade,  a  gigantic  fir,  a  forest 
patriarch,  stood  out  above  the  more  slender  figures  of 
his  fellows.  The  grotesque  roots,  writhing  like  talons, 
tressled  a  bench  of  boughs  and  skins.  Before  the  tree 
burnt  a  fire,  the  draught  sweeping  upwards  to  fan  the 
fringe  of  the  green  fir's  gown.  The  man  in  the  black 
harness  took  Yeoland  to  the  seat  under  the  tree.  The 
boughs  arched  them  like  a  canopy,  and  the  wood  fire  gave 
a  lusty  heat  in  the  gloaming. 

27 


28  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

A  boy  had  run  forward  to  unhelm  the  knight  in  the  red 
cloak.  Casque  and  sword  lay  on  the  bench  of  boughs  and 
skins.  The  girl's  glance  framed  for  the  first  time  the 
man's  face.  She  surveyed  him  at  her  leisure  under  droop- 
ing lids,  with  a  species  of  reticent  interest  that  escaped 
boldness.  It  was  one  of  those  incidents  to  her  that  stand 
up  above  the  plain  of  life,  and  build  individual  history. 

She  saw  a  bronzed  man  with  a  tangle  of  tawny-red 
hair,  a  great  beak  of  a  nose,  and  a  hooked  chin.  His  eyes 
were  like  amber,  darting  light  into  the  depth  of  life,  alert, 
deep,  and  masterful.  There  was  a  rugged  and  indomitable 
vigour  in  the  face.  The  mouth  was  of  iron,  yet  not  un- 
kind ;  the  jaw  ponderous ;  the  throat  bovine.  The  mask  of 
youth  had  palpably  forsaken  him ;  Life,  that  great  chiseller 
of  faces,  had  set  her  tool  upon  his  features,  moulding  them 
into  a  strenuous  and  powerful  dignity  that  suited  his  soul. 

He  appeared  to  fathom  the  spirit  of  the  girl's  scrutiny, 
nor  did  he  take  umbrage  at  the  open  and  critical  revision 
of  her  glances.  He  inferred  calmly  enough,  that  she  con- 
sidered him  by  no  means  blemishless  in  feature  or  in  at- 
mosphere. Probably  he  had  long  passed  that  age  when  the 
sanguine  bachelor  never  doubts  of  plucking  absolute  favour 
from  the  eyes  of  a  woman.  The  girl  was  not  wholly 
enamoured  of  him.  He  was  rational  enough  to  read  that 
in  her  glances. 

"  Madame  is  in  doubt,"  he  said  to  her,  with  a  glimmer  of 
a  smile. 

"  As  to  what,  messire  ?  " 

"  My  character." 

"  You  prefer  the  truth  ?  " 

"  Am  I  not  a  philosopher  ?  " 

"  Hear  the  truth  then,  messire,  I  would  not  have  you  for 
a  master." 

The  man  laughed,  a  quiet,  soundless  laugh  through  half- 
closed  lips.  There  was  something  magnetic  about  his 
grizzled  and  ironical  strength,  cased  in  its  shell  of  black- 
ened steel.  He  had  the  air  of  one  who  had  learnt  to  toy 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  29 

with  his  fellows,  as  with  so  many  strutting  puppets.  The 
world  was  largely  a  stage  to  him,  grotesque  at  some  seasons, 
strenuous  at  others. 

"  Ha,  a  miracle  indeed,"  he  said,  "  a  woman  who  can  tell 
the  truth." 

She  ignored  the  gibe  and  ran  on. 

11  Your  name,  messire  ?  " 

The  man  spread  his  hands. 

"  Pardon  the  omission.  I  am  known  as  Fulviac  of  the 
Forest.  My  heritage  I  judge  to  be  the  sword,  and  the 
shadows  of  these  same  wilds." 

Yeoland  considered  him  awhile  in  silence.  The  fire- 
light flickered  on  his  harness,  glittering  on  the  ribbed  and 
jointed  shoulder  plates,  striking  a  golden  streak  from  the 
edge  of  each  huge  pauldron.  Mimic  flames  burnt  red 
upon  his  black  cuirass,  as  in  a  darkened  mirror.  The 
night  framed  his  figure  in  an  aureole  of  gloom,  as  he  sat 
with  his  massive  head  motionless  upon  its  rock-like  throat. 

"  Five  years  ago,"  she  said  suddenly,  "  you  rode  as  a  noble 
in  the  King's  train.  Now  you  declare  yourself  a  thief. 
These  things  do  not  harmonise  unless  you  confess  to  a 
dual  self." 

"  Madame,"  he  answered  her,  "  I  confess  to  nothing.  If 
you  would  be  wise,  eschew  the  past,  and  consider  the  pres- 
ent at  your  service.  I  am  named  Fulviac,  and  I  am  an 
outlaw.  Let  that  grant  you  satisfaction." 

Yeoland  glanced  over  the  glade,  walled  in  with  the  gloom 
of  the  woods,  the  stream  foaming  in  the  dusk,  the  armed 
men  gathered  about  the  further  fire. 

"  And  these  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Are  mine." 

"  Outcasts  also  ?  " 

"  Say  no  hard  things  of  them ;  they  are  folk  whom  the 
world  has  treated  scurvily  j  therefore  they  are  at  feud  with 
the  world.  The  times  are  out  of  joint,  tyrannous  and 
heavy  to  bear.  The  nobles  like  millstones  grind  the  poor 
into  pulp,  tread  out  the  life  from  them,  that  the  wine  of 


30  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

pleasure  may  flow  into  gilded  chalices.  The  world  is 
trampled  under  foot.  Pride  and  greed  go  hand  in  hand 
against  us." 

She  looked  at  him  under  her  long  lashes,  with  the  zest 
of  cavil  slumbering  in  her  eyes.  Autocracy  was  a  heredi- 
tary right  with  her,  even  though  feudalism  had  slain  her 
sire. 

"  I  would  have  the  mob  held  in  check,"  she  said  to  him. 

"  And  how  ?  By  cutting  off  a  man's  ears  when  he  spits 
a  stag.  By  splitting  his  nose  for  some  small  sin.  By 
branding  beggars  who  thieve  because  their  children  starve. 
Oh,  equable  and  honest  justice  !  God  prevent  me  from 
being  poor." 

She  looked  at  him  with  her  great  solemn  eyes. 

"  And  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  spread  his  arms  with  a  half-flippant  dignity. 

"  I,  madame,  I  take  the  whole  world  into  my  bosom.'* 

"  And  play  the  Christ  weeping  over  Jerusalem  ?  " 

"  Madame,  your  wit  is  excellent." 

A  spit  had  been  turning  over  the  large  fire,  a  haunch  of 
venison  being  basted  thereon  by  a  big  man  in  the  cassock 
of  a  friar.  Certain  of  Fulviac's  fellows  came  forward  bear- 
ing wine  in  silver-rimmed  horns,  white  bread  and  meat  upon 
platters  of  wood.  They  stood  and  served  the  pair  with  a 
silent  and  soldierly  briskness  that  bespoke  discipline.  The 
girl's  hunger  was  as  healthy  as  her  sleek,  plump  neck, 
despite  the  day's  hazard  and  her  homeless  peril. 

Dusk  had  fallen  fast ;  the  last  pennon  of  day  shone  an 
eerie  streak  of  saffron  in  the  west.  The  forest  stood 
wrapped  in  the  stupendous  stillness  of  the  night.  An 
impenetrable  curtain  of  ebony  closed  the  glade  with  its 
rush-edged  pool. 

Fulviac's  servers  had  retreated  to  the  fire,  where  a  ring 
of  rough  faces  shone  in  the  wayward  light.  The  sound  of 
their  harsh  voices  came  up  to  the  pair  in  concord  with  the 
perpetual  murmur  of  the  stream.  Yeoland  had  shaken  the 
bread-crumbs  from  her  green  gown.  She  was  comforted 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  31 

in  the  flesh,  and  ready  for  further  foining  with  the  man  who 
posed  as  her  captor. 

"  Sincerity  is  a  rare  virtue,"  she  said,  with  a  slight  lifting 
of  the  angles  of  her  mouth. 

"  I  can  endorse  that  dogma." 

"  Do  you  pretend  to  the  same  ?  " 

"  Possibly." 

u  You  love  the  poor,  conceive  their  wrongs  to  be  your 
own  ? " 

Fulviac  smiled  in  his  eyes  like  a  man  pleased  with  his 
own  thoughts. 

"  Have  I  not  said  as  much  ? " 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  I  revere  my  own  image." 

"  And  fame  ?  " 

He  commended  her  and  unbosomed  in  one  breath. 

"  Pity,"  he  said,  "  is  often  a  species  of  splendid  pride.  We 
toil,  we  fight,  we  labour.  Why  ?  Because  below  all  life 
and  effort,  there  burns  an  immortal  egotism,  an  eternal 
vanity.  i  Liberty,  liberty,'  we  cry,  c  liberty  and  justice 
man  for  man.'  Yet  how  the  soul  glows  at  the  sound  of 
its  own  voice !  The  human  self  hugs  fame,  and  mutters, 
4  Lo,  what  a  god  am  I  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  ! ' ' 


SILENCE  fell  between  them  for  a  season,  a  silence  deep 
and  intangible  as  the  darkness  of  the  woods.  The  man's 
mood  had  recovered  its  subtle  calm,  even  as  a  pool  that 
has  been  stirred  momentarily  by  the  plashing  of  a  stone 
sinks  into  rippleless  repose.  He  sat  with  folded  arms  be- 
fore the  flare  of  the  fire,  watching  the  girl  under  his  heavy 
brows. 

She  was  very  fair  to  look  upon,  slim,  yet  spirited  as  a 
band  of  steel.  Her  ears  shone  out  from  her  dusky  hair 
like  apple  blossoms  in  a  mist  of  leaves.  Her  lips  were 
blood-red,  sensitive,  clean  as  the  petals  of  a  rose.  Her 
great  grief  had  chastened  her.  From  the  curve  of  her 
neck  to  the  delicate  strength  of  her  white  hands,  she  was 
as  rich  an  idyll  as  a  man  could  desire. 

Fulviac  considered  her  with  a  thought  that  leant  philo- 
sophically towards  her  beauty.  He  had  grown  weary  of 
love  in  his  time ;  the  passions  of  youth  had  burnt  to  dry 
ashes;  possibly  he  had  been  luckless  in  his  knowledge  of 
the  sex.  He  had  married  a  wife  of  irreproachable  birth,  a 
lady  with  a  sharp  nose  and  a  lipless  mouth,  eyes  of  green, 
and  a  most  unholy  temper.  She  was  dead,  had  been  dead 
many  years.  The  man  had  no  delirious  desire  to  meet  her 
again  in  heaven.  As  for  this  girl,  he  had  need  of  her  for 
revolutionary  reasons,  and  his  mood  to  her  was  more  that 
of  a  father.  Her  spirit  pleased  him.  Moreover,  he  knew 
what  he  knew. 

Gazing  at  the  flames,  he  spread  I  is  hands  to  them,  and 
entered  again  on  the  confines  of  debate.  His  voice  had 
the  steady,  rhythmic  insistence  of  a  bell  pealing  a  curfew. 
Its  tone  was  that  of  a  man  not  willing  to  be  gainsaid. 

32 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  KUINS  33 

"  Therefore,  madame,  I  would  have  you  understand  that 
I  desire  in  some  measure  to  be  a  benefactor  to  the  human 
race." 

"  I  take  your  word  for  it,"  she  answered  him. 

"  That  I  am  an  ambitious  man,  somewhat  vain  towards 
fame,  one  that  can  glow  in  soul." 

"A  human  sun." 

«  So." 

"  That  loves  to  be  thought  great  through  warming  the 
universe." 

"  Madame,  you  are  epigrammatic." 

"  Or  enigmatic,  messire." 

"As  you  will,"  he  answered  her;  "your  womanhood 
makes  you  an  enigma ;  it  is  your  birthright.  Understand 
that  I  possess  power." 

"  Fifty  cut-throats  tied  to  a  purse." 

"  Consider  me  a  serious  figure  in  the  world's  sum." 

"  As  you  will,  messire.  You  are  an  outlaw,  a  leader  of 
fifty  vagabonds,  a  man  with  ideals  as  to  the  establishing  of 
justice.  You  are  going  to  subvert  the  country.  Very 
good.  I  have  learnt  my  lesson.  But  how  is  all  this  going 
to  help  me  out  of  the  wood  ?  " 

Fulviac  took  his  sword,  and  balanced  it  upon  his  wrist. 
The  red  light  from  the  fire  flashed  on  the  swaying 
steel. 

"Our  hopes  are  more  near  of  kin,  madame,  than  you 
imagine." 

"  Well  ? " 

"Flavian  of  Gambrevault's  raiders  burnt  your  home, 
slew  your  father,  exterminated  your  brethren.  This  hap- 
pened but  a  day  ago.  You  do  not  love  this  Flavian  of 
Gambrevault." 

Her  whole  figure  stiffened  spasmodically  as  at  the  prick 
of  a  sword.  Her  6;ies,  with  widely  open  pupils,  flashed  up 
to  Fulviac's  face.  She  questioned  him  through  her  set 
teeth  with  a  passionate  whisper  of  desire. 

"  How  do  you  know  this  ?  " 


34  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

His  face  mellowed ;  the  arm  bearing  the  sword  was 
steady  as  the  limb  of  an  oak. 

"  I  am  wiser  in  many  ways  than  you  imagine,"  he  said. 
"  Look  at  me,  I  am  no  longer  young ;  I  hate  women  ;  I 
patronise  God.  You  are  a  mere  child  ;  to  you  life  is  dark 
and  perilous  as  this  wilderness  of  pines.  Your  trouble  is 
known  to  me,  because  it  is  my  business  to  know  of  such 
things.  It  was  my  deliberate  intent  that  you  should  fall 
into  my  hands  to-day." 

The  girl  was  still  rigidly  astonied.  She  stared  at  him 
mutely  with  dubious  eyes.  The  man  and  his  philosophy 
were  beyond  her  for  the  moment. 

"Well  ?  "  she  said  to  him  with  a  quaver  of  entreaty. 

"  First,  you  will  honour  me  by  saying  that  I  have  your 
trust." 

"  How  may  I  promise  you  that  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  surety  for  my  own  honour." 

She  smiled  in  his  face  despite  the  occasion. 

"  You  seem  very  sure  of  your  own  soul,"  she  said. 

"  Madame,  it  has  taken  me  ten  years  to  come  by  so 
admirable  a  state.  Self-knowledge  carried  to  the  depths, 
builds  up  self-trust.  I  may  take  it  for  granted  that  you 
hate  the  Lord  Flavian  of  Gambrevault  ?  " 

"  Need  you  ask  that !  " 

Her  eyes  echoed  the  mood  of  the  flame.  Fulviac,  watch- 
ing her,  saw  the  strong  wrack  of  wrath  twisting  her  delicate 
features  for  the  moment  into  pathetic  ugliness. 

u  You  have  courage,"  he  said  to  her. 

"  Ample,  messire." 

u  Flavian  of  Gambrevault  is  the  greatest  lord  in  the 
south." 

"I  am  as  wise." 

"  On  that  score,  this  Flavian  and  Fulviac  of  the  Forest 
are  irreconcilable  as  day  and  night." 

The  man  stood  his  sword  pommel  upwards  in  the  grass, 
and  ran  on. 

"  Some  day  I  shall  slay  this  same  Flavian  of  Gambre- 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  35 

vault.  His  blood  will  expiate  the  blood  of  these  your 
kinsfolk.  Therefore,  madame,  you  will  be  my  debtor." 

"  That  is  all  ?  "  she  asked  him  with  a  wistfulness  in  her 
voice  that  was  even  piteous. 

Fulviac  looked  long  into  the  fire  like  a  man  whose 
thoughts  channel  under  the  crust  of  years.  Pity  for  the 
girl  had  gone  to  the  heart  under  the  steel  cuirass,  a  pity 
that  was  not  the  pander  of  desire.  His  eyes  took  a  new 
meaning  into  their  keen  depths ;  he  looked  to  have  grown 
suddenly  younger  by  some  years.  When  he  spoke  again, 
his  voice  had  lost  its  half-mocking  and  grandiose  confidence. 
It  was  the  voice  of  a  man  who  strides  generous  and  eager 
into  the  breach  of  fate. 

"  Listen,"  he  said  to  her,  "  I  may  tell  you  that  your 
sorrow  has  armed  my  manhood.  Give  me  my  due;  I  am 
more  than  a  mere  vagabond.  You  have  been  cruelly  dealt 
with ;  I  take  your  cause  upon  the  cross  of  my  sword." 

"  You,  messire  ?  " 

"Even  so.  I  need  a  good  woman,  a  brave  woman. 
You  please  me." 

"  Well  ? " 

"  You  are  a  necessity  to  me." 

"  And  why,  messire  ?  " 

"  For  a  matter  of  religion  and  of  justice.  Trust  to  my 
honour.  You  shall  learn  more  in  due  season." 

Yeoland,  smitten  with  incredulity,  stared  at  the  man  in 
mute  surmise.  Here  was  an  amazing  circumstance  — 
robbery  idealised,  soul,  body,  purse,  at  one  bold  swoop.  In 
her  mystification,  she  could  find  nothing  to  say  to  the  man 
for  the  moment,  even  though  he  had  promised  her  a 
refuge. 

"  You  are  very  sure  of  yourself,"  she  said  at  length. 

"  I  am  a  man." 

"  Yet  you  leave  me  in  ignorance." 

"  Madame,  we  are  to  undertake  great  deeds  together, 
great  perils.  I  could  hold  up  an  astonishing  future  to  your 
eyes,  but  for  the  present  I  keep  silence.  Rest  assured 


36  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

that  you  shall  be  accorded  such  honour  as  the  Virgin  her- 
self could  desire.  Remember  that  I  give  you  promise  of 
vengeance,  and  a  home." 

The  girl  drew  a  deep  breath,  as  though  taking  the  spirit 
of  the  hour  into  her  bosom. 

"  If  I  refuse  ?  "  she  said  to  him. 

"You  cannot  refuse,"  came  the  level  retort. 

"  And  why,  messire  ?  " 

"  Your  consent,  though  pleasant,  is  not  necessary  in  the 
matter.  I  have  long  ago  determined  to  appropriate  you  to 
my  ambition." 


VI 

FULVIAC'S  lair  lay  deep  within  the  waving  wilderness  of 
pines.  Above  the  spires  of  the  forest,  a  massive  barrier  of 
rock  thrust  up  its  rugged  bartisans  into  the  blue.  East 
and  west  it  stretched  a  mile  or  more,  concavitated  towards 
the  north,  and  standing  like  a  huge  breakwater  amid  the 
sea  of  boughs. 

The  rocky  plateau  above  was  peopled  by  pines  and 
rowans,  thatched  also  with  a  wild  tangle  of  briar,  whin,  and 
heather.  Crannies  cleft  into  it ;  caves  tunnelled  its  massive 
bosom  ;  innumerable  minarets  of  stone  mingled  with  the 
wind-wracked  trees.  The  cliffs  rose  like  the  walls  of  a 
castle  donjon  from  the  forest  floor,  studded  with  dwarf 
trees,  bearded  with  ferns  and  grass.  The  plateau  was  inac- 
cessible from  the  forest  save  by  a  thin  rocky  track,  where 
the  western  slope  of  the  clifF  tailed  off  to  merge  into  the 
trees. 

The  significance  of  the  place  to  Fulviac  lay  in  the  ex- 
istence of  a  cavern  or  series  of  caves  piercing  the  cliff, 
and  opening  both  upon  the  southern  and  northern  facades 
of  the  mass.  A  wooden  causeway  led  to  the  southern 
entry,  bridging  a  small  gorge  where  a  stream  foamed  under 
the  pines.  The  yawn  of  the  southern  opening  had  been 
built  up  with  great  blocks  of  stone,  and  the  rough  walls 
pierced  by  narrow  squints,  and  a  gate  opening  under  a 
rounded  arch. 

Within,  the  roof  of  the  main  cavern  arched  abruptly 
upwards,  hollowing  a  great  dome  over  the  smooth  floor 
beneath.  This  grotesque  and  rock-ripped  hall  served  as 
guard-room  and  dormitory,  a  very  various  chamber.  Wind- 

37 


38  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

ing  ways  smote  from  it  into  the  black  bowels  of  the  cliff. 
The  height  of  the  main  cavern  dwindled  as  it  tunnelled 
northwards  into  the  rock.  A  second  wall  of  stone  parti- 
tioned the  guard-room  from  a  second  and  smaller  chamber, 
lit  always  by  a  great  lamp  pendent  from  the  ceiling,  a 
chamber  that  served  Fulviac  as  state-room. 

From  Fulviac's  parlour  the  cavern  narrowed  to  a  throat- 
like  gallery  that  had  been  expanded  by  human  craft  into  a 
third  and  smaller  room.  This  last  rock  chamber  was 
wholly  more  healthy  and  habitable  than  the  others.  Its 
walls  stood  squarely  from  floor  to  rocky  roof,  and  it  was 
blessed  with  a  wide  casement,  that  stared  northwards  over 
a  vista  of  obeisant  trees.  A  postern  gave  entry  to  the 
room  from  a  narrow  platform,  and  from  this  ledge  a  stair- 
way cut  in  the  flank  of  the  cliff  dwindled  into  the  murk  of 
the  forest  below. 

A  more  romantic  atmosphere  had  swept  into  the  bleak 
galleries  of  the  place  that  winter.  Plundered  stores  were 
ransacked,  bales  of  merchandise  ungirded,  caskets  and  chests 
pilfered  as  for  the  endowing  of  the  chamber  of  a  queen. 
The  northern  room  in  the  cliff  blossomed  into  the  rich 
opulence  of  a  lady's  bower.  Its  stone  walls  were  panelled 
with  old  oak  carvings  taken  from  some  ancient  manor. 
There  were  tapestries  of  green,  gold,  and  purple;  an 
antique  bed  with  a  tester  of  silver  silk,  its  flanks  blazoned 
with  coloured  escutcheons.  Painted  glass,  azure,  red,  and 
gold,  jewelled  the  casement,  showing  also  Sebastian  bound 
to  his  martyr's  tree.  A  Jew  merchant  plundered  on  the 
road  had  surrendered  a  set  of  brazen  ewers,  a  lute  inlaid 
with  pearl,  a  carpet  woven  on  the  looms  of  the  purple  East. 
There  were  mirrors  of  steel  about  the  walls.  A  carved 
prayer-desk,  an  embroidery  frame,  a  crucifix  wrought  in 
ivory  :  Fulviac  had  consecrated  all  these  to  Yeoland,  dead 
Rual's  daughter. 

A  white  lily  amid  a  horde  of  thistles  !  The  girl's  life 
had  drawn  under  the  black  shadow  of  the  cliff,  and  into  the 
clanging  torrent  of  these  rough  men  of  the  sword.  It  was 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  39 

a  wild  age  and  a  wild  region.  Fulviac's  rogues  were  like 
wolves  in  a  forest  lair,  keen,  bloody,  and  relentless.  There 
was  a  rude  strain  of  violence  running  through  the  strenuous 
mood  of  the  place,  like  the  song  of  Norse  rovers,  piercing 
the  roar  of  the  sea.  Mystery  enveloped  the  girl,  war,  and 
the  sound  of  the  sword.  She  fumbled  at  the  riddle  of  Fate 
with  the  trembling  ringers  of  one  who  unbars  a  prison  gate 
in  the  hush  of  night.  It  was  all  strange  and  fantastic 
beyond  the  riot  of  a  dream. 

u  Madame,"  Fulviac  had  said  to  her  when  he  had  hung  a 
key  at  her  girdle,  "  I  have  bidden  you  trust  me ;  remember 
that  I  trust  you  in  turn.  Take  this  room  as  your  sanctu- 
ary. Lock  me  out  when  you  will.  I  prepare,  among 
other  things,  to  perfect  your  vengeance." 

Yeoland  suffered  him  and  her  necessity.  She  was 
shrewdly  wise  in  the  conviction  that  it  would  be  useless 
to  rebel  against  the  man.  Though  over-masterful  and 
secretive,  his  purpose  appeared  benignant  in  the  opulence 
of  its  favour.  Moreover,  the  forest  was  as  a  vast  web 
holding  her  within  the  maze  of  the  unknown. 

"  I  have  no  alternative,"  she  said  to  him,  "  I  am  in  your 
power.  And  yet,  I  believe  you  are  no  villain." 

u  Your  charity  pleases  me.  I  am  a  man  with  a  strong 
purpose." 

"  For  good  ?  " 

"  Do  I  not  need  you  ?  " 

"  Am  I  then  so  powerful  a  person  ? " 

"You  will  learn  anon." 

"  You  seem  something  of  a  mystic,"  she  said  to  him. 

44 Madame,"  he  retorted,  "trust  my  discretion.  In  due 
season  I  shall  unfold  to  you  certain  aspects  of  life  that 
will  kindle  your  sympathies.  I  shall  appeal  to  the  woman 
in  you.  When  you  are  wise  you  will  commend  my  am- 
bition." 

"  You  speak  in  riddles." 

"  Wait.     As  yet  you  see  through  a  glass  darkly." 

From  the  mountainous  north  to  the  warm  southern  sea, 


4O  LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS 

from  the  wooded  west  to  the  eastern  fens,  the  good  King 
ruled,  holding  many  great  barons  in  feudal  faith,  and  cast- 
ing his  fetters  of  gold  over  Church  and  State.  Chivalry 
moved  through  the  world  to  the  clangour  of  arms  and  the 
songs  of  the  troubadour.  Lutes  sounded  on  terrace  and 
in  garden,  fair  women  bloomed  like  roses,  bathed  in  a  sen- 
suous blaze  of  romance.  Baron  made  war  upon  baron ; 
glory  and  death  were  crowned  together.  The  painter  spread 
his  colours  in  the  halls  of  the  great ;  the  goldsmith  and  the 
carver  wrought  wondrous  things  to  charm  the  eye.  Church 
bells  tolled.  Proud  abbots  carried  the  sword,  and  made  fine 
flutter  among  the  women.  Innumerable  saints  crowded  the 
avenues  to  heaven.  It  was  a  fair  age  and  very  lovely,  full 
of  colour  and  desire,  music  and  the  odour  of  romance. 

And  the  poor  ?  Their  lot  hung  largely  on  the  humour 
of  an  overlord,  or  the  state  of  a  gentleman's  stomach.  They 
had  their  saints'  days,  their  games,  their  pageants,  their 
miracle  plays.  They  had  hovels  of  clay  and  wattle ;  labour 
in  wind  and  rain ;  plagues  and  pestilences  in  the  rotting 
filth  of  their  city  alleys.  They  marked  the  great  folk  go 
by  in  silks  and  cloth  of  gold,  saw  the  pomp  and  opulence 
of  that  other  life,  remembered  their  own  rags  and  their 
squealing  children. 

And  yet,  consider  the  broad  inclinations  of  the  world. 
To  eat,  to  be  warm,  to  satisfy  the  flesh,  to  ease  a  lust,  to 
drink  beer.  There  was  no  very  vast  gulf  betwixt  the  rich 
man  and  the  poor.  The  one  feasted  to  music,  the  other 
scraped  a  bone  to  the  dirge  of  toil.  They  had  like  appe- 
tites, like  satisfactions,  and  hell  is  considered  to  be  Utopian 
in  the  extreme.  The  poor  man  envied  the  rich ;  the  rich 
man  ruled  the  poor.  Envy,  that  jingling  demagogue,  has 
made  riotous  profit  out  of  such  a  stew  since  the  world  was 
young. 

Fulviac's  clifF  was  shut  out  from  the  ken  of  man  by 
leagues  of  woodland,  moor,  and  waste.  The  great  pine 
forest  girded  it  in  its  inmost  bosom.  No  wayfarers  rode 
that  way ;  no  huntsman  ranged  so  deep ;  the  place  had  an 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  41 

evil  rumour;  many  whom  it  had  welcomed  had  never  re- 
turned. Romancers  had  sung  of  it,  the  lay  of  Guingamor. 
Horror  ruled  black-browed  over  its  pine-cumbered  hills,  its 
gloomy  depths.  Solitude  abode  there,  as  over  a  primaeval 
sea,  and  there  was  no  sound  save  the  moan  or  storm-cry 
of  the  wind  over  its  troubled  trees. 

According  to  legend  lore,  Romulus  peopled  Rome  with 
the  offscourings  of  Italy.  Fulviac  had  emulated  the  device 
with  the  state-craft  of  a  strong  conspirator.  The  forest 
stood  a  grand  accomplice,  abetting  him  with  its  myriad 
sentinels,  who  gossiped  solely  with  the  wind.  The  venture 
had  been  finely  conceived,  finely  edificated.  A  cliff,  a  cave, 
five-score  armed  men.  Not  a  vast  power  on  the  face  of 
it  to  threaten  a  system  or  to  shake  a  throne.  Superficial- 
ities were  fallacious,  the  surface  false  and  fair  as  glistening 
ice.  The  forest  hid  more  than  a  company  of  ruffians 
banded  together  to  resist  tyranny.  Enthusiasm,  genius, 
vigour,  such  torches,  like  a  burning  hovel,  can  fling  a  city 
into  flame. 

As  for  the  girl  Yeoland,  she  was  more  than  mocked  by 
the  swift  vagaries  of  life.  Two  days  of  mordant  realism 
had  erased  from  her  heart  the  dream  visions  of  childhood. 
To  be  declared  homeless,  kinless,  in  one  day ;  to  be  bereft 
of  liberty  the  next !  To  what  end  ?  She  stared  round  the 
richly-garnished  room  into  which  Fate  had  thrust  her, 
fingered  the  pearl-set  lute,  gazed  at  her  own  face  in  the 
steel  mirrors.  She  was  the  same  woman,  yet  how  differ- 
ently circumstanced  !  Fulviac's  mood  had  not  hinted  at 
love,  or  at  any  meaner  jest.  What  power  could  he  proph- 
esy to  his  advantage  in  the  mere  fairness  of  her  face  ? 
What  was  the  gall  of  a  woman's  vengeance  to  a  man  who 
had  conceived  the  downfall  of  a  kingdom  ? 

Her  knowledge  of  psychology  was  rustic  in  the  extreme, 
and  she  had  no  wit  for  the  unravelling  of  Fulviac's  subtle- 
ties. There  were  certain  convictions,  however,  that  abode 
with  her  even  in  her  ignorance.  She  could  have  taken  oath 
that  he  was  no  mere  swashbuckler,  no  captain  of  outlaws, 


42  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

no  mere  spoiler  of  men.  Moreover,  she  believed  him  to  be 
the  possessor  of  some  honour,  and  a  large  guerdon  of  virility. 
Lastly,  pity  appealed  her  as  a  sentiment  not  to  be  discarded. 
The  man,  whoever  he  might  be,  appeared  desirous  of  put- 
ting his  broad  shoulders  betwixt  her  and  the  world. 

Fulviac  grew  perspicuous  sooner  than  she  could  have 
prophesied.  He  had  a  fine,  cloud-soaring  way  with  him 
that  seemed  to  ignore  the  mole-hills  of  common  circum- 
spection. He  had  wit  enough  also  to  impose  his  trust  on 
others  with  a  certain  graceful  confidence  that  carried  bribery 
in  the  very  generosity  of  its  hardiness. 

March  was  upon  them  like  a  spirit  of  discord,  wild,  riot- 
ous weather,  with  the  wind  thundering  like  storm-waves 
upon  the  cliff.  The  pines  were  buffeting  each  other  in  the 
forest,  and  reeling  beneath  the  scourgings  of  the  breeze. 
Fulviac  came  to  the  girl  one  windy  noon,  when  the  caverns 
were  full  of  the  breath  of  the  storm.  His  manner  to  her 
seemed  as  a  significant  prelude,  heralding  the  deep  utterance 
of  some  human  epic. 

Fulviac  took  the  girl  by  a  winding  stair  leading  from  the 
guard-room — a  stair  that  circled  upwards  in  the  thickness 
of  the  rock  some  hundred  steps  or  more,  and  opened  into  a 
basin-shaped  pit  on  the  plateau  above.  Dwarf  trees  and 
briars  domed  the  hollow,  giving  vision  of  a  grey  and  hurry- 
ing sky.  The  pair  climbed  a  second  stair  that  led  to  a  rock 
perched  like  a  pulpit  on  the  margin  of  the  southern  preci- 
pice. The  wind  swept  gusty  and  tempestuous  over  the 
cliff.  It  tossed  back  the  girl's  hood,  made  her  stagger ;  she 
would  have  fallen  had  not  Fulviac  gripped  her  arm. 

Below  stretched  an  interminable  waste  of  trees,  of  bow- 
ing pine-tops,  and  dishevelled  boughs.  The  dull  green  of  the 
forest  merged  into  the  grey  of  the  cloud-strewn  sky.  On 
either  hand  the  craggy  bulwarks  of  the  cliffs  stretched  east 
and  west,  its  natural  bartisans  and  battlements  topped  by  a 
cornice  of  mysterious  pines.  It  was  a  superb  scene,  rich 
with  a  wild  liberty,  stirred  by  the  wizard  chanting  of  the 
wind. 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  43 

Fulviac  watched  the  girl  as  she  stood  limned  against  the 
grey  curtain  of  the  sky.  Her  hair  blew  about  her  white 
throat  and  shoulders  in  sombre  streams ;  her  eyes  were  very 
bright  under  their  dusky  lashes ;  and  the  wind  had  kissed  a 
stronger  colour  into  her  cheeks.  She  was  clad  in  a  kirtle 
of  laurel-green  cloth,  bound  about  the  waist  with  a  girdle 
of  silver.  A  white  kerchief  lay  like  snow  over  her  shoulders 
and  bosom ;  her  green  sleeves  were  slashed  and  puffed  with 
crimson. 

"  Wild  country,"  he  said,  looking  in  her  eyes. 

"  Wild  as  the  sea." 

"You  are  a  romanticist." 

She  gave  a  curt  laugh. 

"  After  what  I  have  suffered  !  " 

"  Romance  and  sorrow  go  hand  in  hand.  For  the  mo- 
ment my  words  are  more  material.  You  see  this  cliff?  " 

She  turned  to  him  and  stood  watching  his  face. 

"  This  cliff  is  the  core  of  a  kingdom.  A  granite  wedge 
to  hurl  feudalism  to  ruins,  to  topple  tyranny." 

She  nodded  slowly,  with  a  grave  self-reservation. 

"  You  have  hinted  that  you  are  ambitious,"  she  said. 

"  Ambition  would  have  stormed  heaven." 

"  And  your  ladder  ?  " 

The  man  made  a  strong  gesture,  like  one  who  points  a 
squadron  to  the  charge.  His  eyes  shone  with  a  glint  of 
grimness  under  his  shaggy  brows. 

"  The  rabid  discontent  of  the  poor,  fermenting  ever  under 
the  crust  of  custom.  The  hate  of  the  toiler  for  the  fop 
and  the  fool.  The  iron  that  lies  under  the  rusting  injus- 
tice of  riches.  The  storm-cry  of  a  people's  vengeance 
against  the  tyrant  and  the  torturer." 

Yeoland,  solemn  of  face,  groped  diligently  amid  her 
surmises.  The  man  was  a  visionary  by  his  own  showing ; 
it  was  impossible  to  mistake  him  for  a  fool.  Like  all 
beings  of  uncommon  power,  he  combined  imagination 
with  that  huge  vigour  of  mind  that  moves  the  world.  A 
vast  element  of  strength  lay  coiled  in  him,  subtle,  yet  over- 


44  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

powering  as  the  body  of  some  great  reptile,,  The  girl  felt 
the  gradual  magic  of  his  might  mesmerising  her  with  the 
inevitableness  of  its  approach. 

"  You  have  brought  me  here  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  As  I  promised." 

«  Well  ?  " 

"  To  tell  you  something  of  the  truth." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  penetrating  frankness  that  was 
in  spirit  —  laudatory. 

"  You  put  great  trust  in  me,"  she  said. 

"That  I  may  trust  the  more." 

He  sat  himself  down  on  a  ledge  of  rock,  and  proceeded 
to  parade  before  her  imagination  such  visions  as  were  well 
conceived  to  daze  the  reason  of  a  girl  taken  fresh  from  a 
forest  hermitage.  He  spoke  of  riot,  revolution,  and  re- 
venge ;  painted  Utopias  established  beneath  the  benediction 
of  a  just  personal  tyranny,  a  country  purged  of  oppression, 
a  kingdom  cleansed  of  pride.  He  told  of  arms  stored  in  the 
warrens  of  the  cliff,  of  grain  and  salted  meat  sufficient  for  an 
army.  He  pointed  out  the  vast  strength  of  the  place,  the  pla- 
teau approachable  only  by  the  stairway  in  the  cliff,  and  the 
narrow  causeway  towards  the  west.  He  descrioed  it  as 
sufficient  for  the  gathering  and  massing  of  a  great  host. 
Finally,  he  swept  his  hand  over  the  leagues  of  forestland, 
dark  as  the  sea,  isleting  the  place  from  the  ken  of  the 
world. 

"  You  understand  me  ?  "  he  said  to  her. 

She  nodded  and  waited  with  closed  lips.  He  gazed  at 
the  horizon,  and  spoke  in  parables. 

"  The  King  and  the  nobles  are  throned  upon  a  pile  of 
brushwood.  A  torch  is  plunged  beneath ;  a  tempest 
scourges  the  beacon  into  a  furnace.  The  kingdom  burns." 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"  Consider  me  no  mere  visionary  ;  I  have  the  country  at 
my  back.  For  five  years  the  work  has  gone  on  in  secret.  I 
have  trusted  nothing  to  chance.  It  needs  a  bold  man  to 
strike  at  a  kingdom.  I  —  Fulviac,  am  that  man." 


VII 

THE  free  city  of  Gilderoy  climbed  red-roofed  up  a  rocky 
hill,  a  hill  looped  south-east  and  west  by  the  blue  breadth 
of  the  river  Tamar.  Its  castle,  coroneting  the  central 
rock,  smote  into  the  azure,  a  sheaf  of  glistening  towers 
and  turrets,  vaned  with  gold.  Lower  still,  the  cathedral's 
sable  crown  brooded  above  a  myriad  red-tiled  roofs  and 
wooden  gables.  Many  fair  gardens  blazoned  the  higher 
slopes  of  the  city.  Tall  walls  of  grey  stone  ringed  round 
the  whole,  grim  and  quaint  with  bartisan  and  turret.  To 
the  north,  green  meadows  dipped  to  the  billowy  distance 
of  the  woods.  The  silver  streak  of  the  sea  could  be 
seen  southwards  from  the  platforms  of  the  castle. 

Gilderoy  was  a  rich  city  and  a  populous,  turbulent 
withal,  holding  honourable  charters  from  the  King, 
exceeding  proud  of  its  own  freedom.  Its  Guilds  were  the 
wealthiest  in  all  the  south ;  the  coffers  of  its  Commune 
overflowed  with  gold.  Nowhere  was  fairer  cloth  woven 
than  in  Gilderoy.  Nowhere  could  be  found  more  cun- 
ning smiths,  more  subtle  armourers.  The  mansions 
of  its  rich  merchant  folk  were  wondrous  opulent  and 
great,  bedight  with  goodly  tapestry  and  all  manner  of  rare 
furniture.  Painters  had  gathered  to  it  from  the  far  south ; 
its  courtezans  were  the  joy  of  the  whole  kingdom. 

Two  days  after  his  confessions  on  the  cliff,  Fulviac 
took  horse,  mounted  Yeoland  on  a  white  palfrey,  and 
rode  for  Gilderoy  through  the  forest.  The  man  was 
upholstered  as  a  merchant,  in  a  plum-coloured  cloak,  a 
cap  of  sables,  and  a  Venetian  mail  cape.  Yeoland  wore 
a  light  blue  jupon  edged  with  silver,  a  green  kirtle,  a 

45 


46  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

cloak  of  brocaded  Tartarin.  She  rode  beside  the  man, 
demure  as  a  daughter,  her  bridle  of  scarlet  leather  merry 
with  silver  bells.  Two  armed  servants  and  some  six 
packhorses  completed  the  cavalcade. 

Fulviac  had  fallen  into  one  of  his  silent  moods  that  day. 
He  was  saturnine  and  enigmatic  as  though  immersed  in 
thought.  The  girl  won  nothing  from  him  as  to  the  pur- 
pose of  their  ride.  They  were  for  Gilderoy ;  thus  much 
he  vouchsafed  her,  and  no  more.  She  had  a  shrewd  belief 
that  he  was  for  giving  her  tangible  evidence  of  the  hazard- 
ous schemes  that  were  fermenting  under  the  surface  of 
silence,  and  that  she  was  to  learn  more  of  the  tempest 
that  was  gathering  in  the  dark.  Being  tactful  in  her 
generation,  she  asked  him  no  questions,  and  kept  her  con- 
jectures to  herself. 

They  broke  their  ride  to  pass  the  night  at  a  wayside 
hostelry,  where  the  road  from  Gambrevault  skirted  the 
forest.  Holding  on  at  their  good  leisure  on  the  following 
day,  they  entered  Gilderoy  by  the  northern  gate,  towards 
evening,  with  the  cathedral  bell  booming  a  challenge  to 
the  distant  sea.  Crossing  the  great  square  with  its  tall 
mansions  of  carved  oak  and  chiselled  stone,  they  plunged 
into  a  narrow  highway  that  curled  downhill  under  a 
hundred  overhanging  gables.  Set  back  in  a  murky 
court,  a  tavern  hung  out  its  gilded  sign  over  the  cobbles, 
a  Golden  Leopard,  that  groaned  in  the  wind  on  its  rusty 
hinges.  The  inn's  casements  glowed  red  under  the  gloom 
of  roof  and  bracket.  Fulviac  rode  into  its  stone-paved 
court  with  its  balustraded  gallery,  its  carved  stairways, 
its  creaking  lamps  swaying  under  the  high-peaked 
gables. 

Their  horses  were  taken  by  a  lean  groom,  blessed  with 
a  most  malevolent  squint.  On  the  lower  step  of  the  gal- 
lery stair  stood  a  rotund  little  man,  with  a  bunch  of  keys 
reposing  on  his  stomach,  the  light  from  a  lantern  overhead 
shining  on  his  bald  pate,  as  on  a  half  sphere  of  alabaster. 
He  seemed  to  sweat  beef  and  beer  at  every  pore.  Shuffling 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  47 

his  feet,  he  tilted  his  double  chin  to  the  sky,  as  though  he 
were  conducting  a  monologue  under  the  stars. 

"  No  brew  yet,"  he  hummed  in  a  high  falsetto,  throaty 
and  puling  from  so  ponderous  a  carcase. 

Fulviac  set  one  foot  on  the  stairs. 

"  St.  Prosper's  wine,  fat  Jean,"  he  said. 

The  rotund  soul  turned  his  face  suddenly  earthwards, 
as  though  he  had  been  jerked  down  by  one  leg  out  of 
heaven. 

"  Ah,  sire,  it  is  you." 

"  Who  else  ?     What  of  the  good  folk  of  Gilderoy  ?  " 

"  Packed  like  a  crowd  of  rats  in  a  drain.  Will  your 
honour  sup  ?  " 

The  man  stood  aside  with  a  great  sweep  of  the  hand, 
and  a  garlic-ladened  breath  given  full  in  Yeoland's  face. 

"  And  the  lady,  sire,  a  cup  of  purple ;  the  roads  are  dry  ?  " 

Fulviac  pushed  up  the  stairs. 

"  We  are  late,  and  supped  as  we  came.  Your  private 
cellar  will  suit  us  better." 

"  Of  a  truth,  sire,  most  certainly." 

"  Send  the  men  back  with  the  horses ;  Damian  has  his 
orders,  and  your  money-bag." 

"  Rely  on  my  dispatch,  sire." 

"  Well,  then,  roll  on." 

Fat  Jean,  sweaty  deity  of  pot  and  gridiron,  took  the  keys 
from  his  girdle  and  a  lantern  from  a  niche  in  the  wall. 
Going  at  a  wheezy  shuffle,  he  led  them  by  a  long  passage 
and  two  circles  of  stairs  to  a  cellar  packed  with  hogsheads, 
tuns,  and  great  vats  of  copper.  From  the  first  cellar  a 
second  opened,  from  the  second,  a  third.  In  the  last  vault 
Jean  rolled  a  cask  from  a  corner,  turned  a  flagstone  on  its 
side,  showed  them  a  narrow  stairway  descending  into  the 
dark. 

Fulviac  took  the  lantern,  made  a  sign  to  Jean,  and  passed 
down  the  stairway  with  Yeoland  at  his  heels.  The  tavern- 
keeper  remained  above  in  the  cellar,  and  closed  the  stone 
when  the  last  gleam  of  the  light  had  died  down  the  stair. 


48  LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS 

He  rolled  the  cask  back  into  its  place,  and  felt  his  way 
back  by  cellar  and  stairway  to  the  benignant  glow  of  his 
own  tavern  room. 

Fulviac  and  the  girl  had  descended  the  black  well  of  the 
stair.  Tunnels  of  gloom  ran  labyrinthine  on  every  hand  ; 
a  musty  scent  burdened  the  air,  and  fine  sand  covered  the 
floor.  Fulviac  held  the  lantern  shoulder-high,  took  Yeo- 
land's  wrist,  and  moved  forward  into  a  great  gallery  that 
sloped  downwards  into  the  depths  of  the  rock.  The  place 
was  silent  as  the  death-chamber  of  a  pyramid.  The  lantern 
fashioned  fantastic  shadows  from  the  gloom. 

Yeoland  held  close  to  the  man  with  an  instinct  towards 
trust  that  made  her  smile  at  her  own  thoughts.  Fulviac 
had  been  in  her  life  little  more  than  a  week;  yet  his 
unequivocating  strength  had  won  largely  upon  her  liking  — 
in  no  sentimental  sense  indeed,  but  rather  with  the  calm 
command  of  power.  Possibly  she  feared  him  a  very  little. 
Yet  with  the  despair  of  a  wrecked  mariner  she  clung  to 
him,  in  spirit,  as  she  would  have  clung  to  a  rock. 

As  they  passed  down  the  gallery  with  the  lantern  swing- 
ing in  Fulviac's  hand,  she  began  to  question  him  with  a 
quiet  persistence. 

"What  place  is  this  ?  "  she  said. 

For  retort,  Fulviac  pointed  her  to  the  wall,  and  held  the 
lantern  to  aid  her  scrutiny.  The  girl  saw  numberless 
recesses  excavated  in  the  rock ;  some  had  been  bricked  up 
and  bore  tablets ;  others  were  packed  with  grinning  skulls. 
There  were  scattered  paintings  on  the  walls,  symbolic 
daubs,  or  scenes  from  scriptural  history.  The  place  was 
meaningless  to  the  girl,  save  that  the  dead  seemed  ever 
with  them. 

Fulviac  smiled  at  her  solemn  face. 

"  The  catacombs  of  the  city  of  Gilderoy,"  he  said ;  "  yon- 
der are  the  niches  of  the  dead.  These  paintings  were 
made  by  early  folk,  centuries  ago.  A  veritable  maze  this, 
a  gallery  of  skulls,  a  warren  for  ghosts  to  squeak  in." 

Yeoland  had  turned  to  scan  a  tablet  on  the  wall. 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  49 

u  We  go  to  some  secret  gathering  ?  "  she  asked. 

Fulviac  laughed ;  the  sound  echoed  through  the  passages 
with  reverberating  scorn. 

"  The  same  dark  fable,"  he  said,  "  telling  of  vaults  and 
secret  stairs,  passwords  and  poniards,  masks  and  murder. 
Remember,  little  sister,  you  are  to  be  black  and  subtle  to 
the  heart's  chords.  This  is  life,  not  a  romance  or  an  Ital- 
ian fable.  We  are  men  here.  There  is  to  be  no  strutting 
on  the  stage." 

The  girl  loitered  a  moment,  as  though  her  feet  kept  pace 
with  her  cogitations. 

u  I  am  content,"  she  said,  "  provided  I  may  eschew  poi- 
son, nor  need  run  a  bodkin  under  some  wretch's  ribs." 

"  Be  at  peace  on  that  score.  I  have  not  the  heart  to 
make  a  Rosamund  of  you." 

Sudden  out  of  a  dark  bye-passage,  like  a  rat  out  of  a 
hole,  a  man  sprang  at  them  and  held  a  knife  at  Fulviac's 
throat.  The  mock  merchant  gave  the  password  with  great 
unconcern,  putting  his  cap  of  sables  back  from  off  his  face. 
The  sentinel  crossed  himself,  fell  on  one  knee,  and  gave 
them  passage.  Turning  a  bluff  buttress  of  stone,  they 
came  abruptly  upon  a  short  gallery  that  widened  into  a 
great  circular  chamber,  pillared  after  the  manner  of  a  church. 

A  flare  of  torches  harassed  the  shadowy  vault,  and  played 
upon  a  thousand  upturned  faces  that  seemed  to  surge  wave 
on  wave  out  of  the  gloom.  In  the  centre  of  the  crypt 
stood  an  altar  of  black  marble,  and  before  it  on  the  dais, 
a  priest  with  a  cowl  down,  a  rough  wooden  crucifix  in  his 
hand.  A  knot  of  men  in  armour  gleamed  about  the  altar, 
ringing  a  clear  space  about  the  steps.  Others,  with  drawn 
swords,  kept  the  entries  of  the  galleries  leading  to  the  cav- 
ern. A  great  quiet  hung  over  the  place,  a  silence  solid  as 
the  rock  above. 

A  group  of  armed  men  waited  for  Fulviac  at  the  main 
entry  to  the  crypt.  He  merged  into  their  ranks,  exchang- 
ing signs  and  words  in  an  undertone  with  one  who  seemed 
in  authority.  The  ring  of  figures  pressed  through  the 


50  LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS 

crowd  towards  the  altar,  Fulviac  and  Yeoland  in  their 
midst.  Fulviac  mounted  the  steps,  and  drew  the  girl  up 
beside  him.  He  uncovered  his  face  to  the  mob  with  the 
gesture  of  a  king  uncovering  to  his  people. 

"  Fulviac,  Fulviac  !  " 

The  press  swayed  suddenly  like  the  black  waters  of  a 
lake,  stirred  by  the  rush  of  flood  water  through  a  broken 
dam.  The  ring  of  armed  men  gave  up  the  shout  with  a 
sweeping  of  swords  and  a  clangour  of  harness.  The  great 
cavern  took  up  the  cry,  reverberating  it  from  its  thundering 
vault.  A  thousand  hands  were  thrust  up,  as  of  the  dead 
rising  from  the  sea. 

Yeoland  watched  the  man's  face  with  a  mute  kindling 
of  enthusiasm.  As  she  gazed,  it  beaconed  forth  a  new 
dignity  to  her  that  she  had  never  seen  thereon  before.  A 
sudden  grandeur  of  strength  glowed  from  its  weather-beaten 
features.  The  mouth  and  jaw  seemed  of  iron ;  the  eyes 
were  full  of  a  stormy  fire.  It  was  the  face  of  a  man  trans- 
figured, throned  above  himself  on  the  burning  pinnacle  of 
power.  He  towered  above  the  mob  like  some  granite  god, 
colossal  in  strength,  colossal  in  courage.  His  manhood 
flamed  out,  a  watch-fire  to  the  world. 

As  the  cry  dwindled,  the  priest,  who  still  kept  his  cowl 
down  over  his  face,  held  his  crucifix  on  high,  and  broke 
into  the  strident  cadence  of  a  rebel  ballad.  The  people 
followed  as  by  instinct,  knowing  the  song  of  old.  Many 
hundred  voices  gathered  strenuously  into  the  flood,  the 
massed  roar  rolling  through  the  great  crypt,  echoing  along 
the  galleries  like  the  sound  of  some  subterranean  stream. 
It  was  a  deep  chant  and  a  stirring,  strong  with  the  strength 
of  the  storm  wind,  fanatic  as  the  sea. 

The  silence  that  fell  at  the  end  thereof  was  the  more 
solemn  in  contrast  to  the  thundering  stanzas  of  the  hymn. 
Under  the  flare  of  the  torches,  Fulviac  stood  forward  to 
turn  the  task  from  the  crucifix  to  the  sword. 

"  Men  of  Gilderoy." 

A  billow  of  cheering  dashed  again  to  the  roof. 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  51 

"  Fulviac,  Fulviac  !  " 

The  man  suffered  the  cry  to  die  into  utter  silence,  be- 
fore leaping  into  a  riot  of  words,  a  harangue  that  had  more 
justification  in  it  than  appeal.  His  voice  filled  the  cavern 
with  its  volume  and  depth.  It  was  more  the  voice  of  a 
captain  thundering  commands  to  a  squadron  of  horse  than 
the  declamatory  craft  of  the  orator.  Fulviac  knew  the 
mob,  that  they  were  rough  and  turbulent,  and  loved  a 
demagogue.  Scholastic  subtleties  could  never  fill  their 
stomachs. 

"  Men  of  Gilderoy,  I  come  to  you  with  the  sword. 
Bombast,  bombast,  come  hither  all,  I'll  laden  ye  with 
devilry,  pufF  you  up  with  pride.  Ha,  who  is  for  being 
strong,  who  for  being  master  ?  Listen  to  me.  Damna- 
tion and  death,  I  have  the  kingdom  in  the  palm  of  my 
hand.  Liberty,  liberty,  liberty.  We  strike  for  the  people. 
Geraint  is  ours ;  Gore  is  ours ;  all  the  southern  coast 
waits  for  the  beacons.  Malgo  of  the  Mountain  holds  the 
west  like  a  storm  cloud  under  his  cloak.  The  east  raves 
against  the  King.  Good.  Who  is  for  the  stronger  side, 
for  Fulviac,  liberty,  and  the  people  ?  " 

He  halted  a  moment,  took  breath,  quieted  all  clamour 
with  a  sweep  of  the  hand,  plunged  on  again  like  a  great 
carrack  buffeting  tall  billows. 

"  Are  there  spies  here  ?  By  God,  let  them  listen  well, 
and  save  their  skins.  Go  and  tell  what  ye  have  heard. 
Set  torch  to  tinder.  Blood  and  fire,  the  country  would 
be  in  arms  before  the  King  could  stir.  No,  no,  there  are 
no  spies  in  Gilderoy ;  we  are  all  brothers  here.  By  my 
sword,  sirs,  I  swear  to  you,  that  before  harvest  tide,  we 
shall  sweep  the  nobles  into  the  sea." 

A  great  shout  eddied  up  to  answer  him.  Fulviac's 
voice  pierced  it  like  a  trumpet  cry. 

"  Liberty,  liberty,  and  the  people  !  " 

Sound  can  intoxicate  as  well  as  wine.  The  thunder  of 
war,  the  bray  of  clarions,  can  fire  even  the  heart  of  the 
coward.  The  mob  swirled  about  the  altar  of  black  marble, 


52  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

vociferous  and  eager.  Torches  rocked  to  and  fro  in  the 
cavern ;  shadows  leapt  grotesquely  gigantic  over  the  rough 
groinings  of  the  roof.  Yet  Fulviac  had  further  and  fiercer 
fuel  for  the  fire.  At  a  sign  from  him,  the  circle  of  armed 
men  parted ;  two  peasants  stumbled  forward  bearing  a 
cripple  in  their  arms.  They  carried  him  up  the  steps  and 
set  him  upon  the  altar  before  all  the  people,  supporting 
him  as  he  stared  round  upon  the  sea  of  faces. 

He  was  a  shrivelled  being,  yellow,  black  of  eye,  cadaver- 
ous. He  looked  like  a  man  who  had  wallowed  for  years 
among  toads  in  a  pit,  and  had  become  as  one  of  them. 
His  voice  was  cracked  and  querulous,  as  he  brandished 
a  claw  of  a  hand  and  screamed  at  the  crowd. 

"  Look  at  me,  mates  and  brothers.  Five  years  ago  I 
was  a  tall  man  and  lusty.  I  forbade  the  Lord  of  Margradel 
my  wife.  They  racked  and  branded  me,  tossed  me  into  a 
stinking  pit.  I  am  young,  young.  I  shall  never  walk 
again." 

A  woman  rushed  from  the  crowd,  grey-haired,  fat,  and 
bloated.  She  climbed  the  altar  steps,  and  stretched  out  her 
hands  in  a  kind  of  frenzy  towards  the  people. 

"  Look  at  me,  men  of  Gilderoy.  Last  spring  I  had  a 
daughter,  a  clean  wench  as  ever  danced.  Seek  her  from 
John  of  Brissac  and  his  devils.  Ha,  good  words  these  for 
a  mother.  Men  of  Gilderoy,  remember  your  children." 

Fulviac's  pageant  gathered  grimly  before  the  mob.  A 
blind  man  tottered  up  and  pointed  to  his  sightless  eyes. 
A  girl  held  up  an  infant,  and  told  shrilly  of  its  father's 
murder.  One  fellow  displayed  a  tongueless  mouth ;  an- 
other, a  face  distorted  by  the  iron ;  a  third  had  lost  nose 
and  ears ;  a  fourth  showed  arms  shrivelled  and  contracted 
by  fire.  It  was  a  sinister  appeal,  strong  yet  piteous.  The 
tyranny  of  the  age  showed  in  the  bodies  of  these  wronged 
and  mutilated  beings.  They  had  been  mere  carrion  tossed 
under  the  iron  heel  of  power.  The  granite  car  of  ruthless 
opulence  and  passion  had  crushed  them  under  its  reddened 
wheels. 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  53 

At  a  gesture  from  Fulviac,  the  priest  upon  the  steps 
threw  back  his  cowl  and  stood  forward  in  the  torchlight. 
His  face  was  the  face  of  a  zealot,  fanatical,  sanguine, 
lined  with  an  energy  that  was  prophetic  of  power.  His 
eyes  smouldered  under  their  straight  black  brows.  His 
hands,  white  and  bony,  quivered  as  he  stretched  them  out 
towards  the  people. 

They  knew  him  on  the  instant;  their  clamour  told  as 
much.  Often  had  the  shadow  of  that  thin  figure  fallen 
athwart  the  parched  highways  of  stricken  cities.  Often 
had  those  hands  tended  death,  those  lips  smitten  awe  into 
the  souls  of  the  drunkard  and  the  harlot. 

"  Prosper,  Prosper  the  Preacher  !  " 

There  rang  a  rude,  rough  joy  in  the  clamour  that  was 
spontaneous  and  eloquent.  It  was  the  heart's  cry  of  the  peo- 
ple, wild,  trusting,  and  passionate.  Men  and  women  broke 
through  the  circle  of  armed  men,  cast  themselves  upon  the 
altar  steps,  kissed  the  friar's  gown,  and  fawned  on  him. 
He  put  them  back  with  a  certain  awkward  dignity,  and  a 
hot  colour  upon  his  almost  boyish  face.  The  man  had  a 
fine  humility,  though  the  strenuous  ideals  of  his  soul  ran  in 
fire  to  the  zenith. 

Anon  he  signed  a  benediction,  and  a  hush  descended  on 
the  place. 

"  God's  peace  to  you,  people  of  Gilderoy  !  " 

The  clamour  revived. 

"  Preach  to  us,  preach  to  us !  "  came  the  cry. 

The  friar  stretched  forth  his  hands;  his  voice  rang 
strong  and  strident  over  the  packed  upturned  faces. 

"  Children,  what  need  have  we  of  words !  To-night 
have  we  not  seen  enough  to  scourge  the  manhood  in  us, 
to  bear  forth  the  Holy  Cross  of  war  ?  The  evil  beast  is 
with  us  even  yet ;  Mammon  the  Mighty  treads  you  under 
foot.  Ye  saints,  what  cause  more  righteous  since  the 
martyrs  fell  ?  Look  on  these  scars,  these  wrongs,  these 
agonies.  Preach !  I  am  dumb  beside  such  witnesses  as 
these." 


54  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

The  crypt  thundered  to  him  when  he  lowered  his  hands. 
It  was  the  cry  of  men  bankrupt  of  liberty,  thirsty  for 
revenge.  Fulviac  grappled  the  climax,  and  stood  forward 
with  uplifted  sword.  His  lion's  roar  sounded  above  the 
din. 

"  Go,  people  of  Gilderoy,"  he  cried,  "  go  —  but  remem- 
ber. When  castles  burn,  and  bolts  scream,  when  spears 
splinter,  and  armies  crash  to  the  charge,  remember  your 
children  and  your  wrongs.  Strike  home  for  God,  and  for 
your  liberty." 


VIII 

THE  crowd  had  streamed  from  the  cavern,  swirling  like 
black  water  under  the  tossing  torches,  the  hollow  galleries 
reverberating  to  the  rush  of  many  feet.  Prosper  had  gone, 
borne  away  by  the  seditious  captains  of  the  Commune  and 
the  armed  burghers  who  had  guarded  the  entries.  A  great 
silence  had  fallen  upon  the  crypt.  Fulviac  and  the  girl 
were  left  by  the  altar  of  black  marble,  their  one  lamp  burn- 
ing solitary  in  the  gulf  of  gloom. 

Fulviac  had  the  air  of  a  man  whose  favourite  hawk  had 
flown  with  fettle,  and  brought  her  quarry  tumbling  out  of 
the  clouds.  He  was  warm  with  the  zest  of  it,  and  his 
tawny  eyes  sparkled. 

u  May  the  Virgin  smile  on  us  !  "  he  said.  "  Gilderoy 
will  serve  our  ends." 

The  girl's  eyes  searched  him  gravely. 

"You  make  holy  war,"  she  charged  him. 

"  Ha,  my  sister,  it  is  well  to  profess  a  strong  conviction 
in  the  justice  of  one's  cause.  Tell  men  they  are  heroes, 
patriots,  martyrs,  and  you  will  make  good  fighting  stuff. 
Applaud  fanaticism,  make  great  parade  of  righteousness, 
hail  the  Deity  as  patron,  assemble  all  the  saints  under  your 
banner.  Ha,  trust  me,  that  is  a  way  to  topple  a  kingdom. 
Come,  we  must  stir." 

By  many  labyrinthine  passages,  strange  galleries  of  death, 
they  passed  together  from  the  dark  deeps  of  the  catacombs. 
At  one  point  the  roof  shone  silvered  as  with  dew,  and  the 
air  stood  damp  as  in  a  marsh  on  a  winter's  eve.  The  river 
Tamar  flowed  above  them  in  its  rocky  bed,  so  Fulviac  told 
the  girl.  Anon  they  came  out  by  a  narrow  stair  that 

55 


56  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

opened  by  a  briar-grown  throat  into  a  thicket  of  old  oaks 
in  the  Gilderoy  meadows.  The  stairhead  was  covered  by 
a  species  of  stone  trap  that  could  be  covered  and  con- 
cealed by  sods.  In  the  thicket  a  man  awaited  them  with 
the  bridles  of  three  horses  over  his  arm.  Fulviac  held 
Yeoland's  stirrup,  and  they  rode  out,  the  three  of  them, 
from  under  the  trees. 

A  full  moon  swam  in  a  purple  black  sky  amid  a  shower 
of  shimmering  stars.  Gilderoy,  with  its  climbing  towers 
and  turrets,  stood  out  white  under  the  moon.  The  city 
walls  gleamed  like  alabaster  in  the  magic  glow.  In  the 
meadows  the  ringlets  of  the  river  glimmered.  Far  and 
distant  rose  the  nebulous  midnight  of  the  woods. 

Fulviac  had  bared  his  head  to  an  inconstant  and  torpid 
breeze.  They  were  riding  for  the  west  along  a  bridle  track 
that  curled  grey  and  dim  through  the  sombre  meadows. 
The  calm,  soundless  vault  of  the  world  rose  now  in  con- 
trast to  the  canopies  of  stone  and  the  passion-throes  of  the 
catacombs.  Human  moil  and  effort  seemed  infinitely  little 
under  the  eternal  scrutiny  of  the  stars.  So  thought  the 
man  for  the  moment,  as  he  rode  with  his  chin  sunk  upon 
his  breast,  watching  keenly  the  girl  at  his  side. 

Yeoland  was  young.  All  the  roses  of  youth  were  bud- 
ding about  her  soul ;  idealism,  like  the  essence  of  crushed 
violets,  hovered  heavy  over  the  world.  Her  soul  as  yet 
was  no  frayed  and  listless  lute,  thrummed  into  discords  by 
the  bony  hand  of  care.  She  was  built  for  love,  a  temple 
of  white  marble,  lit  by  lamps  of  rubeous  glory.  Colours 
flashed  through  the  red  sanctuaries  of  the  flesh.  Yet  pain 
and  great  woe  had  smitten  her.  The  grim  destinies  of 
earth  seemed  bent  on  thrusting  an  innocent  pilgrim  into 
the  turbulent  contradictions  of  life. 

The  pageant  in  the  catacombs  that  night  had  stirred  her 
strangely  beyond  belief.  The  fantastic  faces,  the  zeal,  the 
hot  words  of  gesturing  enthusiasm,  these  were  things  new 
to  her,  therefore  the  more  vivid  and  convincing.  New 
worlds,  new  passions,  seemed  to  burst  into  being  under  the 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  $? 

stars.  She  was  utterly  silent  as  she  rode,  looking  forth 
into  the  night.  Her  hood  had  fallen  back ;  her  face  shone 
white  and  clear;  her  eyes  gleamed  in  the  moonlight.  Ful- 
viac, like  a  chess-player  who  had  evolved  some  subtle 
scheme,  rode  and  watched  her  with  a  smile  deep  in  his 
eyes.  For  the  moment  he  was  content  to  leave  her  to  the 
magic  of  her  own  thoughts. 

At  certain  rare  seasons  in  life,  virgin  light  floods  down 
into  the  heart,  as  from  some  oriel  opened  in  heaven.  The 
world  stands  under  a  grander  scheme  of  chiaroscuro ;  men 
comprehend  where  they  once  scoffed.  It  was  thus  that 
Yeoland  rose  inspired,  like  a  spiritual  Venus  from  a  sea  of 
dreams.  As  molten  glass  is  shaped  speedily  into  fair  and 
exquisite  device,  so  the  red  wax  of  her  heart  had  taken  the 
impress  of  the  hour.  Gilderoy  had  stirred  her  like  a 
blazoned  page  of  romance. 

Fulviac  caught  the  girl's  half  glance  at  him;  read  in 
measure  the  meaning  of  her  mood.  Her  lips  were  half 
parted  as  though  she  had  words  upon  her  tongue,  but  still 
hesitated  from  some  scruple  of  pride.  He  straightened  in 
the  saddle,  and  waited  for  her  to  unbosom  to  him  with  a 
confident  reserve. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  said  at  length,  since  she  still  lingered  in  her 
silence. 

"  How  much  one  may  learn  in  a  day,"  she  answered, 
drawing  her  white  palfrey  nearer  to  his  horse. 

Fulviac  agreed  with  her. 

"  The  man  on  the  end  of  the  rope,"  he  said,  "  learns  in 
two  minutes  that  which  has  puzzled  philosophers  since 
Adam  loved  Eve." 

She  turned  to  him  with  an  eagerness  that  was  almost 
passionate  even  in  its  suppressed  vigour. 

u  How  long  was  it  before  you  came  to  pity  your 
fellows  ? " 

"  Some  minutes,  not  more." 

"  And  the  conversion  ?  " 

"Shall  satisfy  you   one   day.     For  the  present   I  will 


58  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

buckle  up  so  unsavoury  a  fable  in  my  bosom.  Tell  me 
what  you  have  learnt  at  Gilderoy." 

Yeoland  looked  at  the  moon.  The  man  saw  great  sad- 
ness upon  her  face,  but  also  an  inspired  radiance  that  made 
its  very  beauty  the  more  remarkable.  He  foresaw  in  an 
instant  that  they  were  coming  to  deeper  matters.  Super- 
ficialities, the  mannerisms  of  life,  were  falling  away.  The 
girl's  heart  beat  near  to  his ;  he  felt  a  luminous  sympathy 
of  spirit  rise  round  them  like  the  gold  of  a  Byzantine  back- 
ground. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  with  a  burst  of  beneficence,  "  you  are 
beginning  to  understand  me." 

She  jerked  a  swift  glance  at  him,  like  the  look  of  a  half- 
tamed  falcon. 

"  You  are  a  man,  for  all  your  sneers  and  vapourings." 

"  I  had  a  heart  once.  Call  me  an  oak,  broken,  twisted, 
aged,  but  an  oak  still." 

Yeoland  drew  quite  close  to  him,  so  that  her  skirt  almost 
brushed  his  horse's  flank.  Fulviac's  shadow  fell  athwart 
her.  Only  her  face  shone  clear  in  the  moonlight. 

"  I  have  ceased,"  she  said,  u  to  look  upon  life  as  a  stretch 
of  blue,  a  laughing  dawn." 

«  Good." 

"  I  have  learnt  that  woe  is  the  crown  of  years." 

"  Good  again." 

"That  life  is  full  of  violence  and  wrong." 

"  A  platitude.    Yes.    Life  consists  in  learning  platitudes." 

"  I  am  only  one  woman  among  thousands." 

"  A  revelation." 

"  You  jeer." 

"  Not  so.     Few  women  learn  the  truth  of  your  proverb." 

"  Lastly,  my  trouble  is  not  the  only  woe  in  the  world. 
That  it  is  an  error  to  close  up  grief  in  the  casket  of 
self." 

Fulviac  flapped  his  bridle,  and  looked  far  ahead  into  the 
cavern  of  the  night.  He  was  silent  awhile  in  thought. 
When  he  spoke  again,  he  delivered  himself  of  certain  curt 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  59 

cogitations,  characteristic  confessions  that  were  wholly 
logical. 

41 1  am  a  selfish  vagabond,"  he  said  ;  "  I  appeal  to  Peter's 
keys  whether  all  ambition  is  not  selfish.  I  am  an  egotist 
for  the  good  of  others.  The  stronger  my  ambition,  the 
stronger  the  hope  of  the  land  in  generous  justice.  I  live 
to  rule,  to  rule  magnanimously,  yet  with  an  iron  sceptre. 
There,  you  have  my  creed." 

«  And  God  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  Is  a  most  useful  subordinate." 

"  You  do  not  mean  that  ?  " 

"  I  do  not." 

She  saw  again  the  mutilated  beings  in  the  catacombs, 
aye,  even  her  own  home  flaming  to  the  sky,  and  the  white 
face  of  her  dead  father.  Faith  and  devotion  were  great 
in  her  for  the  moment.  Divine  vengeance  beaconed  over 
the  world,  a  torch  borne  aloft  by  the  hand  of  Pity. 

"  It  is  God's  war,"  she  said  to  him  with  a  finer  solemnity 
sounding  in  her  voice ;  "  you  have  stirred  the  woman  in 
me.  Is  that  enough  ?  " 

"  Enough,"  he  answered  her. 

«  And  the  rest  ?  " 

"  God  shall  make  all  plain  in  due  season." 

Gilderoy  had  dwindled  into  the  east ;  its  castle's  towers 
still  netted  the  moonlight  from  afar.  The  meadowlands 
had  ceased,  and  trees  strode  down  in  multitudes  to  guard 
the  track.  The  night  was  still  and  calm,  with  a  whisper 
of  frost  in  the  crisp,  sparkling  air.  The  world  seemed 
roofed  with  a  dome  of  dusky  steel. 

Before  them  a  shallow  valley  lay  white  in  the  light  of 
the  moon.  Around  climbed  the  glimmering  turrets  of  the 
trees,  rank  on  rank,  solemn  and  tumultuous.  The  bare 
gable  ends  of  a  ruined  chapel  rose  in  the  valley.  Fulviac 
drew  aside  by  a  bridle  path  that  ran  amid  rushes.  To  the 
left,  from  the  broken  wall  of  the  curtilage,  a  great  beech 
wood  ascended,  its  boughs  black  against  the  sky,  its  floor 
ankle- deep  with  fallen  leaves.  The  chapel  stood  roofless 


6O  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

under  the  moon.  Hollies,  a  sable  barrier  that  glistened  in 
the  moonlight,  closed  the  ruin  on  the  south.  Yews  cast 
their  gloom  about  the  walls.  A  tall  cross  in  the  forsaken 
graveyard  stretched  out  its  mossy  arms  east  and  west. 

The  armed  groom  took  the  horses  and  tethered  them 
under  a  clump  of  pines  by  the  wall.  Fulviac  and  the  girl 
Yeoland  passed  up  through  weeds  and  brambles  to  the 
porch.  A  great  briar  rose  had  tangled  the  opening  with  a 
thorny  web,  as  though  to  hold  the  ruin  from  the  hand  of 
man.  The  tiled  floor  was  choked  with  grass ;  a  rickety  door 
drooped  rotten  on  its  rusty  hinges. 

Fulviac  pushed  through  and  beckoned  the  girl  to  follow. 
Within,  all  was  ruinous  and  desolate,  the  roof  fallen,  the 
casements  broken. 

"  We  must  find  harbour  here,"  said  the  man,  "  our  horses 
go  far  to-morrow." 

"  A  cheerful  hostel,  this." 

"Its  wildness  makes  it  safe.  You  fear  the  cold.  I'll 
see  to  that." 

"  No.     I  am  hungry." 

The  high  altar  still  stood  below  the  small  rose  window 
in  the  east,  where  the  rotting  fragments  of  a  triptych  hid 
the  stonework.  There  was  a  great  carved  screen  of  stone 
on  either  side,  curiously  recessed  as  though  giving  access  to 
an  ambulatory.  The  altar  stood  in  dense  shadow,  with 
broken  timber  and  a  tangle  of  briars  ringing  a  barrier  about 
its  steps.  On  the  southern  side  of  the  nave,  a  patch  of 
tiled  flooring  still  stood  riftless,  closed  in  by  two  fallen 
pillars.  The  groom  came  in  with  two  horse-cloaks,  and 
Fulviac  spread  them  on  the  tiles.  He  also  gave  her  a  small 
flask  of  wine,  and  a  silver  pyx  holding  meat  and  bread. 

tt  We  crusaders  must  not  grumble  at  the  rough  lodging," 
he  said  to  her ;  "  wrap  yourself  in  these  cloaks,  and  play  the 
Jacob  with  a  stone  pillow." 

She  smiled  slightly  in  her  eyes.  The  groom  brought  in 
a  saddle,  ranged  it  with  a  saddle  cloth  covering  it,  that  it 
might  rest  her  head. 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  6l 

"  And  you  ?  "  she  said  to  Fulviac. 

"  Damian  and  I  hold  the  porch." 

"You  will  be  cold." 

"  I  have  a  thick  hide.  The  Lady  of  Geraint  give  you 
good  rest ! " 

He  threaded  his  way  out  amid  the  fallen  stones  and 
pillars,  and  closed  the  rickety  gate.  The  groom,  a  tall 
fellow  in  a  battered  bassinet  and  a  frayed  brigantine,  stood 
by  the  yew  trees,  as  on  guard.  Fulviac  gestured  to  him. 
The  man  moved  away  towards  the  eastern  end  of  the 
chapel,  where  laurels  grew  thick  and  lusty  about  the  walls. 
When  he  returned  Fulviac  was  sitting  hunched  on  a  fallen 
stone  in  the  corner  of  the  porch,  as  though  for  sleep.  The 
man  dropped  a  guttural  message  into  his  master's  ear,  and 
propped  himself  in  the  other  angle  of  the  porch. 

An  hour  passed  ;  the  moon  swam  past  the  zenith  towards 
the  west ;  a  vast  quiet  watched  over  the  world,  and  no 
wind  rippled  in  the  woods.  In  the  sky  the  stars  shivered, 
and  gathered  more  closely  their  silver  robes.  In  the  curti- 
lage the  ruined  tombs  stared  white  and  desolate  at  the 
moon. 

An  owl's  cry  sounded  in  the  woods.  Sudden  and  strange, 
as  though  dropped  from  the  stars,  faint  music  quivered  on 
the  frost-brilliant  air.  It  gathered,  died,  grew  again,  with  a 
mysterious  flux  of  sweetness,  as  of  some  song  stealing  from 
the  Gardens  of  the  Dead.  Flute,  cithern,  and  viol  were 
sounding  under  the  moon,  merging  a  wizard  chant  into  the 
magic  of  the  hour.  Angels,  crimson-winged,  in  green 
attire,  seemed  to  descend  the  burning  stair  of  heaven. 

A  sudden  great  radiance  lit  the  ruin,  a  glory  of  gold 
streaming  from  the  altar.  Cymbals  clashed ;  waves  of 
shimmering  light  surged  over  the  broken  walls.  Incense, 
like  purple  smoke,  curled  through  the  casements.  The 
music  rushed  in  clamorous  rapture  to  the  stars.  A  voice 
was  heard  crying  in  the  chapel,  elfin  and  wild,  yet  full  of  a 
vague  rich  sanctity.  It  ceased  sudden  as  the  brief  moan  of  a 
prophecy.  The  golden  glow  elapsed  j  the  music  sank  to 


62  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

silence.  Nought  save  the  moonlight  poured  in  silver  omnip- 
otence over  the  ruin. 

From  the  chapel  came  the  sound  of  stumbling  footsteps 
amid  the  stones.  A  hand  clutched  at  the  rotting  door, 
jerked  it  open,  as  in  terror.  The  girl  Yeoland  came  out 
into  the  porch,  and  stood  swaying  white-faced  in  the 
shadow. 

"  Fulviac." 

Her  voice  was  hoarse  and  whispering,  strained  as  the 
overwrought  strings  of  a  lute.  The  man  did  not  stir.  She 
bent  down,  dragged  at  his  cloak,  calling  to  him  with  a  quick 
and  gathering  vehemence.  He  shook  himself,  as  from  the 
thongs  of  sleep,  stood  up  and  stared  at  her.  The  groom 
still  crouched  in  the  dark  corner. 

"  Fulviac." 

She  thrust  her  way  through  the  briars  into  the  moon- 
light. Her  hood  had  fallen  back,  her  hair  loose  upon  her 
shoulders ;  her  eyes  were  full  of  a  supernatural  stupor,  and 
she  seemed  under  the  spell  of  some  great  shock  of  awe. 
She  trembled  so  greatly,  that  Fulviac  followed  her,  and  held 
her  arm. 

"  Speak.     What  has  chanced  to  you  ?  " 

She  still  shook  like  some  flower  breathed  upon  by  the 
oracular  voice  of  God.  Her  hands  were  torn  and  bloody 
from  the  thorns. 

"  The  Virgin  has  appeared  to  me." 

"  Are  you  mad  ?  " 

"  The  Virgin." 

"  Some  ghost  or  phantom." 

"  No,  no,  hear  me." 

She  stretched  out  her  hands  like  one  smitten  blind,  and 
took  breath  swiftly  in  sudden  gasps. 

"  Hear  me,  I  was  but  asleep,  woke,  and  heard  music. 
The  Virgin  came  out  upon  the  altar,  her  face  like  the 
moon,  her  robes  white  as  the  stars.  There  was  great  light, 
great  glory.  And  she  spoke  to  me.  Mother  of  God,  what 
am  I  that  I  should  be  chosen  thus  !  " 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  63 

"  Speak.     Can  this  be  true  ?  " 

"The  truth,  the  truth!" 

Fulviac  fell  on  his  knees  with  a  great  gesture  of  awe. 
The  girl,  her  face  turned  to  the  moon,  stood  quivering 
like  a  reed,  her  lips  moving  as  if  in  prayer. 

u  Her  message,  child  ?  " 

"  Ah,  it  was  this  :  l  Go  forth  a  virgin,  and  lead  the  hosts 
of  the  Lord.' " 

Fulviac's  face  was  in  shadow.  He  thrust  up  his  hands 
to  the  heavens,  but  would  not  so  much  as  glance  at  the 
girl  above  him.  His  voice  rang  out  in  the  silence  of  the 
night :  — 

"  Gloria  tibi,  Sancta  Maria  !      Gloria  tibi,  Domine  !  " 


IX 

FAITH,  golden  crown  of  the  Christian  !  Self-mesmerism, 
subtle  alchemy  of  the  mind  !  How  the  balance  of  belief 
swings  between  these  twain  ! 

A  spiritual  conception  born  in  a  woman's  brain  is  as  a 
savour  of  rich  spices  sweetening  all  the  world.  How  great 
a  power  of  obstinacy  stirs  in  one  small  body  !  A  pillar  of 
fire,  a  shining  grail.  She  will  bring  forth  the  finest  gems 
that  hang  upon  her  bosom,  the  ruby  of  heroism,  the  sap- 
phire of  pity.  She  will  cast  all  her  store  of  gold  into  the 
lap  of  Fate.  Give  to  her  some  radiant  dream  of  hope,  and 
she  may  prove  the  most  splendid  idealist,  even  if  she  do 
not  prove  a  wise  one.  Remember  the  women  who  watched 
about  the  Cross  of  Christ. 

There  had  been  trickery  in  the  miracle,  a  tinge  of  flesh 
in  the  vision.  The  Virgin,  in  the  ruck  of  religion,  had 
suffered  herself  to  be  personated  by  a  clever  little  "  player  " 
from  Gilderoy,  aided  and  idealised  by  a  certain  notorious 
charlatan  who  dealt  in  magic,  was  not  above  aiding  ecclesi- 
astical mummeries  on  occasions,  and  conspiring  for  the 
solemn  production  of  miracles.  A  priest's  juggling  box, 
a  secret  door  at  the  back  of  the  altar  used  in  bygone  days 
for  the  manipulation  of  a  wonder-working  image,  musicians, 
incense,  and  Greek  fire.  These  had  made  the  portent  pos- 
sible. As  for  Fulviac,  rugged  plotter,  he  was  as  grave  as 
an  abbot  over  the  business ;  his  words  were  wondrous  bea- 
tific ;  he  spoke  of  the  interventions  of  Heaven  with  bated 
breath. 

It  was  a  superstitious  age,  touched  with  phantasy  and 
gemmed  with  magic.  Relics  were  casketed  in  gold  and 

64 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  65 

silver;  holy  blood  amazed  with  yearly  liquefactions  the 
souls  of  the  devout ;  dreamers  gazed  into  mirrors,  crys- 
tals, finger-nails,  for  visions  of  heaven.  Jewels  were 
poured  in  scintillant  streams  at  the  white  feet  of  the 
Madonna.  It  was  all  done  with  rare  mysticism,  colour, 
and  rich  music.  The  moon  ruled  marriage,  corn,  and 
kine.  The  saints,  like  a  concourse  of  angels,  walked 
with  melancholy  splendour  through  the  wilds. 

As  for  the  girl  Yeoland,  she  had  the  heart  of  a  woman 
in  the  noblest  measure,  a  red  heart,  pure  yet  passionate. 
The  world  waxed  prophetic  that  shrill  season.  She  was 
as  full  of  dreams  and  phantasies  as  an  astrologer's  missal. 
Nothing  amazed  her,  and  yet  all  earth  was  mysterious. 
The  wind  spoke  in  magic  syllables ;  the  trees  were 
oracular ;  the  stars,  white  hands  tracing  symbols  in  the 
sky.  She  was  borne  above  herself  on  the  pinions  of 
ecstasy,  heard  seraph  wings  sweep  the  air,  saw  the 
glimmer  of  their  robes  passing  the  portals  of  the  night. 
Mysticism  moved  through  the  world  like  the  sound  of 
lutes  over  a  moonlit  sea. 

One  March  morning,  Fulviac  came  to  her  in  the 
northern  chamber  of  the  cliff.  Yeoland  had  masses  of 
scarlet  cloth  and  threads  of  gold  upon  her  knees,  for  she 
was  broidering  a  banner,  the  banner  of  the  Maid  of 
Gilderoy.  Her  eyes  were  full  of  violet  shadow.  She 
wore  a  cross  over  her  bosom,  emeralds  set  in  silver;  a 
rosary,  dangling  on  her  wrist,  told  how  her  prayers  kept 
alternate  rhythm  with  her  fingers.  Fulviac  crooked  the 
knee  to  the  crucifix  upon  the  wall,  sat  down  near  her  on 
a  rich  bench  of  carved  cedar  wood. 

The  man  was  in  a  beneficent  mood,  and  beamed  on 
her  like  a  lusty  summer.  He  had  tidings  on  his  tongue, 
tidings  that  he  hoarded  with  the  craft  of  an  epicure.  It 
was  easy  to  mark  when  the  world  trundled  well  with  his 
humour.  He  put  forth  smiles  like  a  great  oak  whose 
boughs  glisten  in  the  sun. 

"  You  will  tire  yourself,  little  sister." 


66  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

She  looked  at  him  with  one  of  her  solemn  glances,  a 
glance  that  spoke  of  vigils,  soul-searchings,  and  prayer. 

"  My  fingers  tire  before  my  heart,"  she  said  to  him. 

"  Rest,  rest." 

"  Do  I  seem  weary  to  you  ?  " 

"  Nay,  you  are  fresh  as  the  dawn." 

He  brushed  back  the  tawny  hair  from  off  his  forehead, 
and  the  lines  about  his  mouth  softened. 

"  I  have  news  from  the  west." 

«  Ah  !  " 

"  We  gather  and  spread  like  fire  in  a  forest.  The 
mountain  men  are  with  us,  ready  to  roll  down  from  the 
hills  with  hauberk  and  sword.  In  two  months  Malgo 
will  have  sent  the  bloody  cross  through  all  the  west." 

The  golden  thread  ran  through  the  girl's  white  fingers ; 
the  beads  of  her  rosary  rattled ;  she  seemed  to  be  weav- 
ing the  destiny  of  a  kingdom  into  the  device  upon  her 
banner. 

"  How  is  it  with  us  here  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  I  have  a  thousand  stout  men  and  true  camped  upon 
the  cliff.  Levies  are  coming  in  fast,  like  steel  to  a 
magnet.  In  a  month  we  shall  outbulk  a  Roman 
legion." 

"  And  Gilderoy  ?  " 

"  Gilderoy  and  Geraint  will  give  us  a  score  thousand 
pikemen." 

"  The  stars  fight  for  us." 

Fulviac  took  her  lute  from  the  carved  bench  and  began 

to  thrum  the  chords  of  an  old  song. 

o 

"  Spears  crash,  and  swords  clang, 
Fame  maddens  the  world. 
Come  battle  and  love. 

Iseult  — 
Ah,  Iseult." 

He  broke  away  with  a  last  snap  at  the  strings,  and  set  the 
lute  aside. 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  6/ 

"  Bear  with  me,"  he  said. 

Her  dark  eyes  questioned  him  over  her  banner. 

"  I  offer  you  the  first  victim." 

«  Ah ! " 

"  Flavian  of  Gambrevault." 

An  indefinite  shadow  descended  upon  the  girl's  face. 
The  inspired  radiance  seemed  dimmed  for  the  moment ; 
the  crude  realism  of  her  thoughts  rang  in  discord  to  her 
dreams.  She  lost  the  glimmering  thread  from  her  needle. 
Her  hands  trembled  a  little  as  she  played  with  the  scarlet 
folds  of  the  banner. 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  A  lad  of  mine  bears  news  —  a  black-eyed  rogue  from 
the  hills  of  Carlyath,  sharp  as  a  sword's  point,  quaint  as 
an  elf.  I  sent  him  gleaning,  and  he  has  done  bravely. 
You  would  hear  his  tale  from  his  own  lips  ?  " 

She  nodded  and  seemed  distraught. 

"  Yes.      Bring  him  in  to  me,"  she  said. 

Fulviac  left  her,  to  return  with  a  slim  youth  sidling  in 
behind  him  like  a  shadow.  The  lad  had  a  nut-brown 
skin  and  ruddy  cheeks,  a  pair  of  twinkling  eyes,  a  thatch 
of  black  hair  over  his  forehead.  Bred  amid  the  hills  of 
Carlyath,  where  the  women  were  scarlet  Eves,  and  the 
land  a  paradise,  he  had  served  in  Gilderoy  as  apprentice 
to  an  armourer.  Carlyath's  wilds  and  the  city's  roguery 
had  mingled  in  him  fantastic  strains  of  extravagant  senti- 
ment and  cunning.  Half  urchin,  half  elf,  he  stood  with 
bent  knees  and  slouched  shoulders,  his  black  eyes  alert  on 
Fulviac,  his  lord. 

The  man  thrust  him  forward  by  the  collar,  with  an  elo- 
quent gesture. 

"  The  whole  tale.     Try  your  wit." 

The  Carlyath  lad  advanced  one  foot,  and  with  an  impu- 
dent southern  smirk,  remarked  — 

"  This,  madame,  is  an  infatuated  world." 

Thus,  sententiously  delivered,  he  plunged  into  a  decla- 
mation with  a  picturesque  and  fanciful  extravagance  that 


68  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

he  had  imbibed  from  the  strolling  romancers  of  his  own 
land. 

"  In  the  city  of  Gilderoy,"  he  said,  speaking  very  volubly 
and  with  many  gestures,  "  there  lives  a  lady  of  surpassing 
comeliness.  Her  eyes  are  as  the  sky,  her  cheeks  as  June 
roses,  her  hair  a  web  of  gold.  She  is  a  right  fair  lady,  and 
daily  she  sits  at  her  broad  casement,  singing,  and  plaiting 
her  hair  into  shackles  of  gold.  She  has  bound  the  Lord 
Flavian  of  Gambrevault  in  a  net  starred  with  poppies,  scar- 
let poppies  of  the  field,  so  that  he  ever  dreams  dreams  of 
scarlet,  and  sees  visions  of  lips  warm  as  wine.  Daily  the 
Lord  Flavian  scours  the  country  between  Avalon  and  the 
fair  city  of  Gilderoy,  till  the  very  dust  complains  of  his 
fury,  and  the  green  grass  curses  his  horse's  heels.  But  the 
lady  with  the  hair  of  gold  compasses  him  like  the  sunset ; 
she  has  stolen  the  eyes  of  heaven,  and  the  stars  are  blind." 

Fulviac  smiled  over  the  extreme  subtlety  of  the  render- 
ing. It  was  a  delicate  matter,  delicately  handled.  The 
Carlyath  lad  had  wit,  and  a  most  seraphic  tongue. 

"  What  more  ?  " 

"  There  is  yet  another  lady  at  Avalon." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  A  lady  whose  name  is  Duessa,  a  lady  with  black  hair 
and  a  blacker  temper.  Lord  Flavian  has  a  huge  horror  of 
her  tongue.  Therefore  he  rides  like  a  thief,  without  trum- 
pets, to  Gilderoy." 

"  Yet  more." 

The  lad  spread  his  hands  with  an  inimitable  gesture, 
shrugged,  and  heaved  a  most  Christian  sigh. 

"  The  Lady  Duessa  is  the  Lord  Flavian's  wife,"  he  said. 

"  Surely." 

"  Therefore,  sire,  he  is  a  coward." 

The  lad  drew  back  with  a  bow  and  a  scrape  of  the  foot, 
keeping  his  eyes  on  the  floor  with  the  discretion  of  a  vet- 
eran lackey.  At  a  sign  from  Fulviac,  he  slipped  away,  and 
left  Yeoland  and  the  man  alone. 

The  girl's  hands  were  idle  in  her  lap ;  the  great  scarlet 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  69 

banner  trailed  in  rich  folds  about  her  feet.  There  was  a 
white  mask  of  thought  upon  her  face,  and  her  eyes  searched 
the  distance  with  an  oblivious  stare.  All  the  strong  dis- 
cords of  the  past  rushed  clamorous  to  her  brain ;  her  con- 
secrated dreams  were  as  so  many  angels  startled  by  the 
assaults  of  hell. 

She  rose  from  her  chair,  cast  the  casement  wide,  and 
stood  gazing  over  the  forest.  Youth  seemed  in  the  breeze, 
and  the  clear  voice  of  the  Spring.  The  green  woods  surged 
with  liberty  ;  the  strong  zest  of  life  breathed  in  their  bosoms. 
In  the  distance  the  pines  seemed  to  beckon  to  her,  to  wave 
their  caps  in  windy  exultation. 

Fulviac  had  stood  watching  her  with  the  calm  scrutiny 
of  one  wise  in  the  passionate  workings  of  the  soul.  He 
suffered  her  to  possess  her  thoughts  in  silence  for  a  season, 
to  come  by  a  steady  comprehension  of  the  past.  Presently 
he  gathered  the  red  banner,  and  hung  it  on  the  frame,  went 
softly  to  her  and  touched  her  sleeve. 

"  Shall  they  kill  him  on  the  road  ? "   he  asked. 

She  pondered  a  moment,  and  did  not  answer  him. 

"  It  is  easy,"  he  said,  "  and  a  matter  of  sheer  justice." 

The  words  seemed  to  steel  her  decision. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  let  them  bring  him  here  —  to  me." 

"  So  be  it,"  he  answered  her. 

Fulviac  found  her  cold  and  taciturn,  desirous  of  solitude. 
He  humoured  the  mood,  and  she  was  still  staring  from  the 
window  when  he  left  her.  The  woodland  had  melted  be- 
fore her  into  an  oblivious  mist.  In  its  stead  she  saw  a 
tower  flaming  amid  naked  trees,  a  white  face  staring 
heavenwards  with  the  marble  tranquillity  of  death. 


DOWN  through  the  woods  of  Avalon  rode  the  Lord  Flavian 
of  Gambrevault,  down  towards  the  forest  track  in  the  grey 
face  of  the  dawn.  In  the  meadows  and  beyond  the  orchards, 
water  shone,  and  towers  stood  mistily.  The  voice  of  Spring 
pulsed  in  the  air,  songs  of  green  woods,  the  wild  wine  of 
violets,  pavements  of  primrose  gold.  Birds  piped  lustily  in 
wood  and  thicket,  and  the  ascending  sun  lavished  his  glit- 
tering archery  from  the  chariots  of  the  clouds. 

The  Lord  Flavian  was  inordinately  cheerful  that  morn- 
ing, as  he  rode  in  green  and  red  through  the  prophetic 
woods.  Heart  and  weather  were  in  kindred  keeping,  and 
his  youth  sang  like  a  brook  after  April  rains.  The  woods 
danced  in  dew.  Far  on  its  rocky  hill  the  towers  of  Gilde- 
roy  would  soon  beckon  him  above  the  trees.  Beneath  the 
shadow  of  the  cathedral  tower  stood  a  gabled  house  with 
gilded  vanes  and  roofs  of  generous  red.  There  in  Gilderoy, 
in  a  room  hung  with  cloth  of  purple  and  gold,  white  arms 
waited,  and  the  bosom  of  a  golden  Helen  held  love  like  a 
red  rose  in  a  pool  of  milky  spikenard. 

Picture  a  slim  but  muscular  man  with  the  virile  figure  of 
a  young  David,  a  keen,  smooth  face,  a  halo  of  brown  hair, 
eyes  eloquent  as  a  woman's.  Picture  a  good  grey  horse 
trapped  in  red  and  green,  full  of  fettle  as  a  colt,  burly  as  a 
bull.  Picture  the  ermined  borderings,  the  jewelled  clasps, 
brigantine  of  quilted  velvet,  fur-lined  bassinet  bright  as  a 
star.  Youth,  clean,  adventurous,  aglow  to  the  last  finger- 
tip, impetuous  to  the  tune  of  thirty  breaths  a  minute.  Youth 
with  all  its  splendid  waywardness,  its  generosities,  its  im- 
mense self-intoxications.  Youth  with  the  voice  of  a  Golden 

70 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  7 1 

Summer  in  its  heart,  and  for  its  plume  the  gorgeous  fires 
of  eve. 

Wealth  often  breeds  apathy  and  parsimonious  instincts. 
It  is  the  beggar  whose  purse  bursts  with  joy,  whose  soul 
blazes  generous  red  upon  the  clouds.  As  for  Flavian  of 
Gambrevault  and  Avalon,  he  was  rich  but  no  miser,  proud 
yet  not  haughty,  sanguine  but  not  vicious.  Like  many  a 
man  inspired  by  an  instinctive  idealism,  his  heart  ran  before 
his  reason :  they  not  having  come  cheek  by  jowl  as  in  later 
years.  He  was  very  devout,  yet  very  worldly  ;  very  ardent, 
yet  over  hasty.  Mark  him  then,  a  lovable  fool  in  the  eyes 
of  philosophy;  a  cup  of  mingled  wine,  both  white  and  red. 
He  was  a  great  lord ;  yet  his  serfs  loved  him. 

The  Lady  Duessa's  parents,  good  folk,  had  been  blessed 
with  aspirations.  Gambrevault  and  Avalon  had  bulked 
very  gloriously  under  the  steel-blue  vault  of  pride.  More- 
over, their  daughter  was  a  sensuous  being,  who  panted  for 
poetic  surroundings,  and  lived  to  music.  A  boy  of  twenty  ; 
a  passionate,  dark-eyed,  big-bosomed  houri  of  twenty  and 
five ;  bell,  book,  and  ring  —  such  had  been  the  bridal  bar- 
gain consummated  on  church  principles  five  years  ago  or 
more.  A  youth  of  twenty  is  not  supremely  wise  concern- 
ing the  world,  or  his  own  heart.  The  Lord  Flavian's  mar- 
riage had  not  proved  a  magic  blessing  to  him.  Parentally 
sealed  marriage  deeds  are  the  edicts  of  the  devil. 

Quickly  are  the  mighty  fallen,  and  the  chalices  of  love 
broken.  It  was  no  mere  chance  ambuscade  that  waited 
open-mouthed  for  Flavian,  Lord  of  Gambrevault  and  Ava- 
lon, Warden  of  the  Southern  Marches,  Knight  of  the  Order 
of  the  Rose,  as  he  rode  that  morning  to  Gilderoy,  a  dis- 
ciple of  Venus.  In  a  certain  perilous  place,  the  road  ran 
betwixt  walls  of  rock,  and  under  the  umbrage  of  overhang- 
ing trees.  Twenty  men  with  pike  and  gisarme  swarming 
out  of  the  woods ;  a  short  scuffle  and  a  stabbed  horse ;  a 
gag  in  the  mouth,  a  bandage  over  the  eyes,  a  mule's  back, 
half  a  dozen  thongs  of  stout  leather.  That  same  evening 
the  Lord  Flavian  was  brought  like  a  bale  of  merchandise 


72  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

into  Fulviac's  guard-room,  and  tumbled  on  a  heap  of  straw 
in  a  corner. 

They  were  grim  men,  these  forest  rangers,  not  given 
to  pity,  or  the  light  handling  of  a  feud.  A  poniard  point 
was  their  pet  oath,  a  whip  of  the  sword  the  best  word  with 
an  enemy.  They  bit  their  thumb  nails  at  creation,  and 
were  not  gentle  in  the  quest  of  a  creed.  Fulviac  heard 
their  news,  and  commended  them.  They  were  like  the 
ogres  of  the  old  fables ;  the  red  blood  of  a  lusty  aristocrat 
smelt  fresh  for  the  sword's  supper. 

The  girl  Yeoland  was  at  her  prayer-desk  with  a  blaz- 
oned breviary  under  her  fingers,  when  Fulviac  came  to 
her  with  tidings  of  the  day's  capture.  She  knelt  with  her 
hands  crossed  upon  her  bosom,  as  Fulviac  stood  in  the 
darkened  doorway.  To  the  man  she  appeared  as  the  Ma- 
donna in  some  picture  of  the  Annunciation,  the  yellow 
light  from  the  lamp  streaming  down  upon  her  with  a  lustre 
of  sanctity. 

"  They  have  brought  the  boar  home." 

«  Dead  ? " 

"  Nay ;  but  his  corpse  candle  walks  the  cavern." 

For  the  girl  it  was  a  descent  from  spiritual  themes  to 
the  stark  realism  of  life.  She  left  her  prayer-desk  with  a 
little  sigh.  Her  hands  trembled  as  she  drew  a  scarlet  cloak 
about  her,  and  fastened  it  with  a  girdle  of  green  leather. 
Her  eyes  dwelt  on  Fulviac's  face  with  a  species  of  dusky 
pain. 

"  Come,"  he  said  to  her. 

"  Whither  ? " 

"  To  judge  him." 

"  Not  before  all,  not  in  the  guard-room." 

"  Leave  it  to  me,"  he  said.  "  Be  forewarned.  We  deal 
with  no  mere  swashbuckler." 

They  went  together  to  Fulviac's  parlour,  where  a  great 
brazen  lamp  hung  from  the  roof,  and  a  book  bound  in 
black  leather  lay  chained  on  the  table.  Yeoland  took  the 
man's  carved  chair,  while  he  stood  behind  her  leaning  on 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  73 

the  rail.  She  was  paler  than  was  her  wont.  Now  and 
again  she  pressed  a  hand  to  her  breast,  as  though  to  stay 
the  too  rapid  beating  of  her  heart. 

Two  guards  bearing  partisans  came  in  from  the  guard- 
room with  a  man  bound  and  blindfold  between  them.  A 
third  followed,  bearing  a  two-handed  sword  naked  over  his 
shoulder.  He  was  known  as  Nord  of  the  Hammer,  an 
armourer  like  to  a  Norse  Volund,  burly,  strong  as  a  bear. 
The  door  was  barred  upon  them.  One  of  the  guards 
plucked  the  cloth  from  the  bound  man's  face. 

In  the  malicious  imagery  of  thought,  Yeoland  had  often 
pictured  to  herself  this  Flavian  of  Gambrevault,  a  coarse, 
florid  ruffian,  burly  and  brutal,  a  fleshly  demigod  in  the 
world  of  feudalism.  So  much  for  conjecture.  What  she 
beheld  was  a  straight-lipped,  clean-limbed  man,  slim  as  a 
cypress,  supple  as  good  steel.  The  face  was  young  yet 
strong,  the  grey  eyes  clear  and  fearless.  Moreover  there 
was  a  certain  lonely  look  about  him  that  invoked  pity,  and 
angered  her  in  an  enigmatic  way.  She  was  wrath  with 
him  for  being  what  he  was,  for  contradicting  the  previous 
imaginings  of  her  mind. 

Flavian  of  Gambrevault  stood  bound  before  her,  an 
aristocrat  of  aristocrats,  outraged  in  pride,  yet  proud  beyond 
complaint.  The  self-mastery  of  his  breeding  kept  him  a 
stately  figure  despite  his  tumbling  and  his  youth,  one  con- 
vinced of  lordship  and  the  powerful  splendour  of  his  name. 
The  whole  affair  to  him  was  illogical,  preposterous,  inso- 
lent. A  gentleman  of  the  best  blood  in  the  kingdom  could 
not  be  hustled  out  of  his  dignity  by  the  horse-play  of  a 
bevy  of  cut-throats. 

Possibly  the  first  vision  to  snare  the  man's  glance  was 
the  elfin  loveliness  of  the  girl,  who  sat  throned  in  the  great 
chair  as  on  a  judgment  seat.  He  marked  the  rose-white 
beauty  of  her  skin,  her  sapphire  eyes  gleaming  black  in 
certain  lights,  her  ebon  hair  bound  with  a  fillet  of  sky-blue 
leather.  Moreover,  it  was  plain  to  the  man  in  turn  that 
this  damoisel  in  the  red  gown  was  deciphering  his  features 


74  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

in  turn  with  a  curiosity  that  was  no  vapid  virtue.  As  for 
Fulviac,  he  watched  them  both  with  his  amber-brown  eyes, 
eyes  that  missed  no  movement  in  the  mask  of  life.  To 
him  the  scene  under  the  great  brazen  lamp  was  a  study  in 
moods  and  emotions. 

The  aristocrat  was  the  first  to  defy  the  silence.  He  had 
stared  round  the  room  at  his  leisure,  and  at  each  of  its 
motionless  figures  in  turn.  The  great  sword,  slanted  in 
gleaming  nakedness  over  Nord's  shoulder,  appeared  to 
fascinate  him  for  the  moment.  Despite  his  ambiguous 
sanctity,  he  showed  no  badge  of  panic  or  distress. 

Ignoring  the  woman,  he  challenged  Fulviac,  who  leant 
upon  the  chair  rail,  watching  him  with  an  enigmatic 
smile. 

"  Goodman  in  the  red  doublet,"  quoth  he,  "  when  you 
have  stared  your  fill  at  me,  I  will  ask  you  to  read  me 
the  moral  of  this  fable." 

Fulviac  stroked  his  chin  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
holds  an  adversary  at  some  subtle  disadvantage. 

"  Messire,"  he  said, "  address  yourself  to  madame  —  here  ; 
you  are  her  affair  in  the  main." 

The  Warden  of  the  Southern  Marches  bowed  as  by 
habit.  His  grey  eyes  reverted  to  Yeoland's  face,  searching 
it  with  a  certain  courteous  curiosity  that  took  her  beauty 
for  its  justification.  The  woman  was  an  enigma  to  him, 
a  most  magical  sphinx  whose  riddle  taunted  his  reason. 

"  Madame,"  he  began. 

The  girl  stiffened  in  her  chair  at  the  word. 

"  You  hold  me  at  a  disadvantage,  seeing  that  I  am 
ignorant  of  sin  or  indiscretion  against  you.  If  it  is  a 
question  of  gold " 

"  Messire ! " 

He  swept  her  exclamation  suavely  aside  and  ran  on 
melliHuously. 

u  If  it  is  a  question  of  gold,  let  me  beseech  you  to  be 
frank  with  me.  I  will  covenant  with  you  instanter.  My 
seneschal  at  Gambrevault  will  unbolt  my  coffers,  and  ease 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  75 

your  greed.  Pray  be  outspoken.  I  will  renounce  the 
delight  of  lodging  here  for  a  purse  of  good  rose  nobles." 

There  was  the  faintest  tinge  of  insolence  in  the  man's 
voice,  an  insolence  that  exaggerated  to  the  full  the  charge 
of  plunder  in  his  words.  Whether  he  hinted  at  blood 
money  or  no,  there  was  sufficient  poison  in  the  sneer  to 
fire  the  brain  and  scorch  the  heart  to  vengeance. 

The  woman  had  risen  from  her  chair,  and  stood  grip- 
ping the  carved  woodwork  with  a  passion  that  set  her  arms 
quivering  like  bands  of  tightened  steel.  The  milk-white 
calm  had  melted  from  her  face.  Wrath  ran  riot  in  her 
blood.  So  large  were  her  pupils  that  her  eyes  gleamed 
red. 

"  Ha,  messire,  I  bring  you  to  justice,  and  you  offer  me 
gold." 

The  man  stared ;  his  eyes  did  not  quail  from  hers. 

"  Justice,  madame  !  Of  what  sin  then  am  I  accused  ? 
On  my  soul,  I  know  not  who  you  are." 

She  calmed  herself  a  little,  shook  back  her  hair  from  her 
shoulders,  fingered  her  throat,  breathing  fast  the  while. 

"  My  name,  messire  ?  Ha,  you  shall  have  it.  I  am 
Yeoland,  daughter  of  that  Rual  of  Cambremont  whom 
you  slaughtered  at  the  gate  of  his  burning  house.  I  — 
am  the  sister  of  those  fair  sons  whom  you  did  to  death. 
Blood  money,  forsooth !  God  grant,  messire,  that  you  are 
in  honest  mind  for  heaven,  for  you  die  to-night." 

The  man  had  bent  to  catch  her  words.  He  straightened 
suddenly  like  a  tree  whose  throat  is  loosed  from  the  grim 
grip  of  the  wind.  He  went  grey  as  granite,  flushed  red 
again  as  a  dishonoured  girl.  The  words  had  touched  him 
with  the  iron  of  truth. 

"  Hear  me,"  he  said  to  her. 

"  Ah,  you  would  lie." 

"  By  Heaven,  no ;  give  me  an  hour's  justice." 

"  Murderer." 

u  Before  God,  you  wrong  me." 

He  stood  with  twitching  lips,  shackled  hands  twisting 


76  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

one  within  the  other.  For  the  instant  words  eluded  him, 
like  fruit  jerked  from  the  mouth  of  a  thirst-maddened 
Tantalus.  Anon,  his  manhood  gathered  in  him,  rushed 
forth  redly  like  blood  from  a  stricken  throat. 

"  Daughter  of  Rual,  hear  me,  I  tell  you  the  truth.  I, 
Flavian  of  Gambrevault,  had  in  my  pay  a  company  of  hired 
4  spears,'  rough  devils  from  the  north.  The  braggarts 
served  me  against  John  of  Brissac,  were  half  their  service 
drunk  and  mutinous.  When  Lententide  had  come,  their 
captain  swore  to  me,  'Lording,  pay  us  and  let  us  go. 
We  have  spilt  blood  near  Gilderoy,'  scullion  blood  he 
swore,  l  give  us  good  bounty,  and  let  us  march.'  So  at 
his  word  I  gave  them  largesse,  and  packed  them  from 
Gambrevault  with  pennons  flying.  Methought  they  and 
their  brawlings  were  at  an  end.  Before  God  and  the  saints, 
I  never  knew  of  this." 

Yeoland  considered  him,  strenuous  as  he  seemed  towards 
truth.  He  was  young,  passionate,  sanguine ;  for  one  short 
moment  she  pitied  him,  and  pondered  his  innocence  in  her 
heart.  It  was  then  that  Fulviac  plucked  at  her  sleeve, 
spoke  in  her  ear,  words  that  hardened  her  like  a  winter 
frost. 

She  stared  in  the  man's  eyes,  as  she  gave  him  his  death- 
thrust  with  the  sureness  of  hate. 

"  Blood  for  blood,"  were  her  words  to  him. 

"  Is  this  justice  !  " 

"  I  have  spoken." 

"  Monstrously.     Hear  me " 

"  Messire,  make  your  peace  with  Heaven,  I  give  you  till 
daylight." 

The  man  stumbled  against  the  table,  white  as  the  moon. 
Youth  strove  in  him,  the  crimson  fountain  of  life's  wine, 
the  wild  cry  of  the  dawn.  His  eyes  were  great  with  a 
superhuman  hunger.  Fulviac's  strong  voice  answered 
him. 

"  Hence,  hence.     At  dawn,  Nord,  do  your  duty." 


XI 

GIVE  doubt  the  password,  and  the  outer  battlements  are 
traitorously  stormed.  Parley  with  pity,  and  the  white 
banner  flutters  on  the  keep. 

Provided  her  emotions  inspire  her,  a  woman  is  strong  ; 
let  her  take  to  logic,  and  she  is  a  rushlight  wavering  in 
the  wind.  In  her  red  heart  lies  her  divinity ;  her  feet  are 
of  clay  when  reason  rules  her  head. 

The  girl  Yeoland  took  doubt  to  her  chamber  that  night, 
a  malicious  sprite,  sharp  of  wit  and  wild  of  eye.  All  the 
demons  of  discord  were  loosed  in  the  silence  of  the  night. 
Pandora's  box  stood  open,  and  the  hours  were  void  of 
sleep ;  faces  crowded  the  shadows,  voices  wailed  in  the 
gloom.  Her  thoughts  rioted  like  frightened  bats  flutter- 
ing and  squeaking  round  a  torch.  Sleep,  like  a  pale  Cas- 
sandra, stood  aloof  and  watched  the  mask  of  these  manifold 
emotions. 

Turn  and  twist  as  she  would  amid  her  fevered  pillows, 
a  wild  voice  haunted  her,  importunate  and  piteous.  As 
the  cry  of  one  sinking  in  a  stormy  sea,  it  rang  out  with 
a  passionate  vehemence.  Moreover,  there  was  a  subtle 
echo  in  her  own  heart,  a  strong  appeal  that  did  not  spare 
her,  toss  and  struggle  as  she  would.  Decision  fluttered 
like  a  wounded  bird.  Malevolence  rushed  back  as  an 
ocean  billow  from  the  bastion  of  a  cliff  that  emblemed 
mercy. 

With  a  beating  of  wings  and  a  discordant  clamour,  a 
screech-owl  buffeted  the  casement.  A  lamp  still  burnt 
beneath  the  crucifix ;  the  glow  had  beaconed  the  bird  out 
of  the  night.  Starting  up  with  a  shiver  of  fear,  she 

77 


78  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

quenched  the  lamp,  and  crept  back  to  bed.  The  dark- 
ness seemed  to  smother  her  like  a  cloak ;  the  silence  took 
to  ghostly  whisperings  ;  a  death-watch  clicked  against  the 
wall. 

The  night  crawled  on  like  a  funeral  cortege.  Baffled, 
outfaced,  sleepless,  she  rose  from  her  tumbled  bed,  and 
paced  the  room  as  in  a  fever.  Still  wakefulness  and  a 
thousand  dishevelled  thoughts  that  hung  about  her  like  her 
snoodless  hair.  Again  and  again,  she  heard  the  distant 
whirr  and  rattle  of  wheels,  the  clangour  of  the  wire,  as 
the  antique  clock  in  Fulviac's  chamber  smote  away  the 
hours  of  night.  Each  echo  of  the  sound  seemed  to  spur 
to  the  quick  her  wavering  resolution.  Time  was  flying, 
jostling  her  thoughts  as  in  a  mill  race.  With  the  dawn, 
the  Lord  Flavian  would  die. 

Anon  she  flung  the  casement  wide  and  stared  out  into 
the  night.  A  calm  breeze  moved  amid  the  masses  of  ivy, 
and  played  upon  her  face.  She  bared  her  breast  to  its 
breath,  and  stood  motionless  with  head  thrown  back,  her 
white  throat  glimmering  amid  her  hair.  Below,  the 
sombre  multitudes  of  the  trees  showed  dim  and  ghostly, 
deep  with  mystery.  A  vague  wind  stirred  the  branches ; 
the  dark  void  swirled  with  unrest,  breaking  like  a  midnight 
sea  upon  a  cliff.  A  few  straggling  stars  peeped  through 
the  lattice  of  the  sky. 

She  leant  against  the  sill,  rested  her  chin  upon  her 
palms,  and  brooded.  Thoughts,  fierce,  passionate,  and 
clamorous,  came  crying  like  gusts  of  wind  through  a  ruined 
house.  Death  and  dead  faces,  blood,  the  yawn  of 
sepulchres,  life  and  the  joy  of  it,  all  these  passed  as  visions 
of  fire  before  her  fancy.  Vengeance  and  pity  agonised  her 
soul.  She  answered  yea  and  nay  with  the  same  breath  ; 
condemned  and  pardoned  with  contradicting  zeal.  Youth 
lifted  up  its  face  to  her,  piteous  and  beautiful.  Death 
reached  out  a  rattling  hand  into  her  bosom. 

Presently,  a  far  glow  began  to  creep  into  the  sky  ;  a 
gradual  greyness  absorbed  the  shadows  of  the  night.  The 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  79 

day  was  dawning.  From  the  forest,  the  trembling  orisons 
of  the  birds  thrilled  like  golden  light  into  the  air.  Unutter- 
able joy  seemed  to  flood  forth  from  the  piping  throats. 
Even  the  trees  seemed  to  quiver  to  the  sound.  With  a 
rush  of  bitter  passion,  she  closed  the  casement,  cast  herself 
upon  her  bed,  and  strove  to  pray. 

Again  came  the  impotent  groping  into  nothingness.  A 
dense  mist  seemed  to  rise  betwixt  her  soul  and  the  white 
face  of  the  Madonna.  Aspiration  lessened  like  an  after- 
glow, and  dissolved  away  into  a  dark  void  of  doubt.  Prayer 
eluded  her ;  the  utterances  of  her  heart  died  in  a  miserable 
endeavour,  and  she  could  not  think. 

The  spiritual  storm  wore  itself  away  as  the  dawn 
streamed  in  with  a  glimmer  of  gold.  Yeoland  lay  and 
stared  at  the  casement,  and  the  figure  of  Sebastian  rendered 
radiant  by  the  dawn,  the  whiteness  of  his  limbs  tongued 
with  dusky  rills  of  blood,  where  the  barbs  had  smitten  into 
the  flesh.  Sombre  were  the  eyes,  and  shadowy  with  suffer- 
ing. A  halo  of  gold  gilded  the  youthful  face.  The  painted 
glass  about  him  blazed  like  a  shower  of  gems. 

The  Sebastian  of  the  casement  recalled  to  her  with  wiz- 
ard power  the  face  of  the  man  whom  death  claimed  at 
dawn.  The  thought  woke  no  new  passion  in  her.  The 
night's  vigil  had  left  her  reason  like  a  skein  of  tangled  silk, 
and  with  the  day  she  verged  towards  a  wearied  apathy. 
The  voice  of  pity  in  her  waned  to  an  infrequent  whisper 
that  came  like  the  rustling  of  leaves  on  a  summer  night. 
She  realised  that  it  had  dawned  an  hour  or  more ;  that  the 
man  had  knelt  and  fallen  to  Nord's  sword. 

Suddenly  the  silence  was  snapped  by  a  far  outcry  sound- 
ing in  the  bowels  of  the  cliff.  GrufF  voices  seemed  to 
echo  and  re-echo  like  breakers  in  a  cavern.  A  horn  blared. 
She  heard  the  thudding  of  a  door,  the  shrilling  of  mail,  the 
clangour  of  iron  steps  passing  up  the  gallery. 

Shivering,  she  raised  herself  upon  her  elbow  to  listen. 
Were  they  bringing  her  the  man's  head,  grey  and  blood- 
dabbled,  with  closed  lids  and  mangled  neck  ?  She  fell  back 


80  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

again  upon  her  pillows,  pressed  her  hands  to  her  face  with 
a  great  revulsion  of  pity,  for  the  image  had  burnt  in  upon 
her  brain. 

The  clangour  of  harness  drew  near,  with  an  iron  rhythm 
as  of  the  march  of  destiny.  It  ceased  outside  the  door.  A 
heavy  hand  beat  upon  the  panelling. 

"  Who  knocks  ?  " 

Her  own  voice,  strained  and  shrill,  startled  her  like  an 
owl's  hoot.  Fulviac's  deep  bass  answered  her  from  the 
passage. 

"  Unbar  to  me,  I  must  speak  with  you." 

She  started  up  from  the  bed  in  passionless  haste,  ran  to 
a  closet,  drew  out  a  cloak  and  wrapped  it  about  her 
shoulders.  Her  bare  feet  showed  white  under  her  night- 
gear  as  she  slid  the  bolt  from  its  socket,  and  let  the  man 
in.  He  was  fully  armed  save  for  his  salade,  which  he  car- 
ried in  the  hollow  of  his  arm.  His  red  cloak  swept  his 
heels.  A  tower  of  steel,  there  was  a  clangorous  bluster 
about  him  that  bespoke  action. 

The  girl  had  drawn  apart,  shivering,  and  gathering  her 
cloak  about  her,  for  in  the  gloom  of  the  place  she  had 
thought  for  an  instant  that  Fulviac  carried  a  mangled  head. 

"  A  rider  has  brought  news,"  he  said  to  her.  "  John  of 
Brissac's  men  have  taken  Prosper  the  Preacher,  to  hang 
him,  as  their  lord  has  vowed,  over  the  gate  of  Fontenaye. 
They  are  on  the  march  home  from  Gilderoy,  ten  lances 
and  a  company  of  arbalestiers.  I  ride  to  ambuscado  them. 
Prosper  shall  not  hang  !  " 

She  stood  with  her  back  to  the  casement,  and  looked  at 
him  with  a  restless  stare.  Her  thoughts  were  with  the 
man  whose  grey  eyes  had  pleaded  with  her  through  the 
night.  Her  fears  clamoured  like  captives  at  the  gate  of  a 
dungeon. 

"  What  is  more,  this  vagabond  of  Avalon  has  been  beg- 
ging twelve  hours'  grace  to  scrape  his  soul  clean  for  Peter." 

"  Ah  !  "  she  said,  with  a  sudden  stark  earnestness. 

"I  will  give  him  till  sunset " 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  8 1 


«  If  I  suffer  it 


"The  dog  has  spirit.  I  would  thrust  no  man  into  the 
dark  till  he  has  struck  a  bargain  with  his  own  particular 
saints." 

She  drew  back,  sank  down  into  a  chair  with  her  hair 
half  hiding  her  face. 

"  You  are  right  in  being  merciful,"  she  said  very  slowly. 

Magic  riddle  of  life ;  rare  roseate  rod  of  love.  Was  it 
youth  leaping  towards  youth,  the  cry  of  the  lark  to  the 
dawn,  the  crimson  flowering  of  a  woman's  pity  ?  The  air 
seemed  woven  through  with  gold.  A  thousand  lutes  had 
sounded  in  the  woods.  Voiceless,  she  sat  with  flickering 
lids, amazed  at  the  alchemy  that  had  wrought  ruth  out  of  hate. 

Fulviac  had  drawn  back  into  the  gloom  of  the  gallery. 
He  turned  suddenly  upon  his  heel,  and  his  scabbard  smote 
and  rang  against  the  rock. 

"  I  take  all  the  men  I  have,"  he  said  to  her,  "  even  the 
dotard  Jaspar,  for  he  knows  the  ways.  Gregory  and 
Adrian  I  leave  on  guard ;  they  are  tough  gentlemen,  and 
loyal.  As  for  the  lordling,  he  is  well  shackled." 

Yeoland  was  still  cowering  in  her  chair  with  the  mysteri- 
ous passions  of  the  moment. 

"  You  will  return  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  By  nightfall,  if  we  prosper;  as  we  shall." 

He  moved  two  paces,  stayed  again  in  his  stride,  and 
flung  a  last  message  to  her  from  the  black  throat  of  the 
passage. 

u  Remember,  there  is  no  recantation  over  this  business. 
The  man  is  my  affair  as  well  as  yours.  He  is  a  power  in 
the  south,  and  would  menace  us.  Remember,  he  must  die." 

He  turned  and  left  her  without  more  palaver.  She 
heard  him  go  clanging  down  the  gallery,  heard  the  thunder 
of  a  heavy  door,  the  braying  of  a  horn.  A  long  while  she 
sat  motionless,  still  as  stone,  her  hands  lying  idle  in  her 
lap.  When  an  hour  had  passed,  the  sun  smote  in,  and 
found  her  kneeling  at  her  prayer-desk,  her  breviary  dewed 
with  tears. 


XII 

FULVIAC  passed  away  that  morning  into  the  forest,  a  shaft 
of  red  amid  the  mournful  glooms.  Colour  and  steel  streamed 
after  him  fantastically.  The  great  cliff,  silent  and  desolate, 
basked  like  a  leviathan  in  the  sun. 

Of  the  daylight  and  its  crown  of  gold,  the  girl  Yeoland 
had  no  deep  joy.  When  she  had  ended  her  passion  over 
the  blazoned  pages  of  her  breviary,  and  mopped  her  tears 
with  a  corner  of  her  gown,  she  rose  to  realism,  and  turned 
her  mood  to  the  cheating  of  the  dues  of  time. 

The  hours  lagged  with  enough  monotony  to  degenerate 
a  saint ;  Yeoland  was  very  much  a  woman.  The  night 
had  left  her  a  legacy  of  evil.  She  had  shadows  under 
her  eyes,  and  a  constant  swirl  of  thoughts  within  her 
brain  that  made  solitude  a  torture-house,  full  of  prophetic 
pain.  There  was  her  lute,  and  she  eschewed  it,  seeing 
that  her  fingers  seemed  as  ice.  As  for  her  embroidery, 
the  stitches  wandered  haphazard,  wrought  grotesque 
things,  or  lost  all  method  in  a  stupor  of  sloth.  She 
threw  the  banner  aside  in  a  fume  at  last,  and  let  her 
broodings  have  their  way. 

The  forenoon  crawled,  like  a  beggar  on  a  dusty  high- 
road in  the  welt  of  August.  Time  seemed  to  stand  and 
mock  her.  Hour  by  hour,  she  was  tortured  by  the 
vision  of  steel  falling  upon  a  strong  young  neck,  of  a 
white  face  lying  in  a  pool  of  blood,  of  a  dripping  carcase 
and  a  sweating  sword.  Though  the  vision  maddened 
her,  what  could  her  weak  hands  do  ?  The  man  was 
shackled,  and  guarded  by  men  with  whom  she  dared  not 
tamper.  Moreover,  she  remembered  the  last  look  in 
Fulviac's  keen  eyes. 

82 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  83 

Towards  evening  she  grew  rabid  with  unrest,  fled  from 
the  cave  by  the  northern  stair,  and  took  sanctuary  amid  the 
tall  shadows  of  the  forest.  The  pine  avenues  were  ever 
like  a  church  to  her,  solemn,  stately,  sympathetic  as  night. 
There  was  nought  to  anger,  nought  to  bring  discord,  where 
the  croon  of  the  branches  soothed  like  a  song. 

It  was  as  she  played  the  nun  in  this  forest  cloister, 
that  a  strange  thought  challenged  her  consciousness  under 
the  trees.  It  was  subtle,  yet  full  of  an  incomprehensible 
bitterness,  that  made  her  heart  hasten.  Even  as  she  con- 
sidered it,  as  a  girl  gazes  at  a  jewel  lying  in  her  palm, 
the  charm  flashed  magic  fire  into  her  eyes.  This  victim 
for  the  sword  lay  shackled  to  the  wall  in  the  great  guard- 
room. She  would  go  and  steal  a  last  glance  at  him  before 
Fulviac  and  death  returned. 

Stairway,  bower,  and  gallery  were  behind  her.  She 
stood  in  Fulviac's  parlour,  where  the  lamp  burnt  dimly, 
and  harness  glimmered  on  the  walls.  The  door  of  the 
room  stood  ajar.  She  stole  to  it,  and  peered  through  the 
crack  left  by  the  clumsy  hingeing,  into  the  lights  and 
shadows  of  the  room  beyond. 

At  the  lower  end  of  a  long  table  the  two  guards  sat 
dicing,  sprawling  greedily  over  the  board,  the  lust  of 
hazard  writ  large  in  their  looks.  The  dice  kept  up  a 
continuous  patter,  punctuated  by  the  intent  growls  of 
the  gamesters.  By  the  sloping  wall  of  the  cavern, 
palleted  on  a  pile  of  dirty  straw,  lay  the  Lord  Flavian  of 
Gambrevault,  with  his  hands  shackled  to  a  staple  in  the 
rock.  He  lay  stretched  on  his  side,  with  his  back  turned 
towards  the  light,  so  that  his  face  was  invisible  to  the  girl 
behind  the  door. 

She  watched  the  man  awhile  with  a  curious  and  dark- 
eyed  earnestness.  There  was  pathos  in  the  prostrate 
figure,  as  though  Hezekiah-like  the  man  had  turned  to 
the  bare  rock  and  the  callous  comfort  despair  could  give. 
Once  she  imagined  that  she  saw  a  jerking  of  the  shoulders, 
that  hinted  at  something  very  womanish.  The  thought 


84  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

smote  new  pity  into  her,  and  sent  her  away  from  the 
cranny,  trembling. 

Yeoland  withdrew  into  Fulviac's  room,  and  thence  into 
the  murk  of  the  gallery  leading  to  her  bower.  A  sudden 
sense  of  impotence  had  flooded  into  her  heart ;  she  even 
yearned  for  some  shock  of  Fate  that  might  break  the  very 
bonds  that  bound  her  to  her  vengeance,  as  to  a  corpse. 
On  the  threshold  of  her  room,  a  sudden  sound  brought  her 
to  a  halt  like  a  hand  thrust  out  of  the  dark  to  clutch  her 
throat.  She  stood  listening,  like  a  miser  for  thieves,  and 
heard  much. 

A  curse  came  from  the  guard-room,  the  crash  of  an 
overturned  bench,  the  tingling  kiss  of  steel.  She  heard 
the  scream  as  of  one  stabbed,  a  smothered  uproar,  an 

indiscriminate  scuffling,  then silence.  She  stood  a 

moment  in  the  dark,  listening.  The  silence  was  heavy 
and  implacable  as  the  rock  above.  Fear  seized  her,  a 
lust  to  know  the  worst.  She  ran  down  the  gallery  into 
Fulviac's  room.  The  door  was  still  ajar;  she  thrust  it 
open  and  entered  the  great  cavern. 

Her  doubts  elapsed  in  an  instant.  At  the  long  table, 
a  man  sat  with  his  head  pillowed  on  his  arms.  A  red 
rivulet  curled  away  over  the  board,  winding  amid  the 
drinking  horns,  isleting  the  dice  in  its  course.  On  the 
floor  lay  the  second  guard,  a  smudge  of  crimson  oozing 
from  his  grey  doublet,  his  arms  rigid,  his  hands  clawing 
in  the  death-agony.  At  the  end  of  the  table  stood  the 
Lord  Flavian  of  Gambrevault,  free. 

Three  cubits  of  steel  had  tangled  the  plot  vastly  in  the 
passing  of  a  minute.  The  climax  was  like  a  knot  of  silk 
thrust  through  with  a  sword.  The  two  stood  motionless 
a  moment,  staring  at  each  other  across  the  length  of  the 
table,  like  a  couple  of  mutes  over  a  grave.  The  man  was 
the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  with  a  certain  grand  air,  and  a 
flippant  gesture,  "  suffer  me  to  condone  with  you  over 
the  lamentable  tricks  of  Fortune.  But  for  gross  selfish- 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  8$ 

ness  on  my  part,  I  should  still  be  chastening  myself  for  the 
unjust  balancing  of  our  feud.  God  wills  it,  seemingly, 
that  I  should  continue  to  be  your  debtor." 

Despite  her  woman's  wit,  the  girl  was  wholly  puzzled 
how  to  answer  him.  She  was  wickedly  conscious  in  her 
heart  of  a  subtle  gratitude  to  Heaven  for  the  sudden  baulk- 
ing of  her  malice.  The  man  expected  wrath  from  her, 
perhaps  an  outburst  of  passion.  Taking  duplicity  to  her 
soul,  she  stood  forward  on  the  dais  and  tilted  her  chin  at 
him  with  dutiful  defiance. 

"Thank  my  irresolution,  messire,"  she  said,  "for  this 
reprieve  of  fortune." 

He  came  two  steps  nearer,  as  though  not  unminded  to 
talk  with  her  in  open  field. 

"  At  dawn  I  might  have  had  you  slain,"  she  continued, 
with  some  hastening  of  her  tongue ;  "  I  confess  to  having 
pitied  you  a  little.  You  are  young,  a  mere  boy,  weak  and 
powerless.  I  gave  you  life  for  a  day." 

The  man  reddened  slightly,  glanced  at  the  dead  men, 
and  screwed  his  mouth  into  a  dry  smile. 

"  Most  harmless,  as  you  see,  madame,"  he  said.  "  For 
your  magnanimity,  I  thank  you.  Deo  gratias,  I  will  be  as 
grateful  as  I  may." 

She  stood  considering  him  out  of  her  dark,  long-lashed 
eyes.  The  man  was  good  to  look  upon,  ruddy  and  clean 
of  lip,  with  eyes  that  stared  straight  to  the  truth,  and  a  pose  of 
the  head  that  prophesied  spirit.  The  sunlight  of  youth  played 
sanguine  upon  his  face ;  yet  there  was  also  a  certain  shadow 
there,  as  of  premature  wisdom,  born  of  pain.  There  were 
faint  lines  about  the  mouth  and  eyes.  For  all  its  sleek  and 
ruddy  comeliness,  it  was  not  the  face  of  a  boy. 

"  Messire,"  she  said  to  him  at  last. 

"  Madame." 

"  He  who  lurks  over  long  in  the  wolf's  den  may  meet 
the  dam  at  the  door." 

He  smiled  at  her,  a  frank  flash  of  sympathy  that  was 
not  devoid  of  gratitude. 


86  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

"  Haste  would  be  graceless,"  he  said  to  her. 

"  How  so  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

"  Ha,  Madame  Yeoland,  have  I  not  watched  my  arms 
at  night  before  the  high  altar  at  Avalon  ?  Have  I  not 
sworn  to  serve  women,  to  keep  troth,  and  to  love  God  ? 
You  judge  me  hardly  if  you  think  of  me  as  a  butcher 
and  a  murderer.  For  the  death  of  your  kinsfolk  I  hold 
myself  ashamed." 

There  was  a  fine  light  upon  his  face,  a  power  of  truth 
in  his  voice  that  was  not  hypocritic.  The  girl  stared 
him  over  with  a  certain  critical  earnestness  that  boasted 
a  gleam  of  approval. 

"  Fair  words,"  she  said  to  him ;  "  you  did  not  speak 
thus  to  me  last  eve." 

"  Ah !  "  he  cried,  beaming  on  her,  "  I  was  cold  as  a 
corpse ;  nor  could  I  whine,  for  pride." 

"  And  your  shackles  ?  " 

He  laughed  and  held  up  both  hands;  the  wrists  were 
chafed  and  bloody. 

"  It  was  ever  a  jest  against  me,"  he  said,  "  that  I  had 
the  hands  of  a  woman,  white  and  meagre,  yet  strong  with 
the  sword.  Your  fellows  thrust  a  pair  of  wristlets  on  me 
fit  for  a  Goliath,  strong,  but  bulky.  My  hands  have 
proved  my  salvation.  I  pulled  them  through  while  the 
guards  diced,  crept  for  a  sword,  gained  it,  and  my 
freedom." 

She  nodded,  and  was  not  markedly  dismal,  though  the 
wind  had  veered  against  her  cause.  The  man  with  the  grey 
eyes  was  a  being  one  could  not  quarrel  with  with  easy  sin- 
cerity. Probably  it  did  not  strike  her  at  the  moment  that 
this  friendly  argument  with  the  man  she  had  plotted  to 
slay  was  a  contradiction  worthy  of  a  woman. 

The  Lord  of  Avalon  meanwhile  had  drawn  still  nearer 
to  the  girl  upon  the  dais.  His  grey  eyes  had  taken  a 
warmer  lustre  into  their  depths,  as  though  her  beauty 
had  kindled  something  akin  to  awe  in  his  heart.  He  set 
the  point  of  the  sword  on  the  floor,  his  hands  on  the  hilt, 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  87 

and  looked  up  at  the  white  face  medallioned  in  the  black 
splendour  of  its  hair. 

"  Madame,"  he  said  very  gravely,  "  it  is  the  way  of  the 
world  to  feel  remorse  when  such  an  emotion  is  expedient, 
and  to  fling  penitence  into  the  bottomless  pit  when  the 
peril  is  past.  I  shall  prove  to  you  that  mine  is  no  such 
April  penitence.  Here,  on  the  cross  of  my  sword,  I  swear 
to  you  a  great  oath.  First,  that  I  will  build  a  chapel  in 
Cambremont  glade,  and  establish  a  priest  there.  Secondly, 
I  will  rebuild  the  tower,  refit  it  royally,  attach  to  it  cottars 
and  borderers  from  mine  own  lands.  Lastly,  mass  shall  be 
said  and  tapers  burnt  for  your  kinsfolk  in  every  church  in 
the  south.  I  myself  will  do  such  penance  as  the  Lord 
Bishop  shall  ordain  for  my  soul." 

The  man  was  hotly  in  earnest  over  the  vow  —  red  as  a 
ruby  set  in  the  sun.  Yeoland  looked  down  upon  him  with 
the  glimmer  of  a  smile  upon  her  lips  as  he  kissed  the  cross 
of  the  sword. 

u  You  seem  honest,"  she  said  to  him. 

"  Madame,  on  this  sword  I  swear  it.  It  is  hard  to 
believe  any  good  of  an  enemy.  Behold  me  then  before 
you  as  a  friend.  There  is  a  feud  betwixt  us,  not  of  my 
willing.  By  God's  light  I  am  eager  to  bridge  the  gulf 
and  to  be  at  peace." 

She  shook  her  head  and  looked  at  him  with  a  sudden 
mysterious  sadness.  Such  a  pardon  was  beyond  belief, 
the  man's  pure  ardour,  nothing  but  seed  cast  upon  sand. 
Fulviac,  a  tower  of  steel,  seemed  to  loom  beyond  him  — 
an  iron  figure  of  Fate,  grim  and  terrible. 

11  This  can  never  be,"  she  said. 

His  eyes  were  honestly  sorrowful. 

"  Is  madame  so  implacable  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  "  she  said,  "  you  do  not  understand  me." 

He  stood  a  moment  in  thought,  as  though  casting 
about  in  his  heart  for  the  reason  of  her  sternness.  Despite 
her  wrongs,  he  was  assured  by  some  spirit  voice  that  it 
was  not  death  that  stalked  betwixt  them  like  an  angel  of 


88  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

doom.  As  he  stood  and  brooded,  a  gleam  of  the  truth 
flashed  in  upon  his  brain.  He  went  some  steps  back 
from  her,  as  though  destiny  decreed  it  that  they  should 
sever  unabsolved. 

"  Your  pardon,  madame,"  he  said  to  her ;  "  the  riddle 
is  plain  to  me.  I  no  longer  grope  into  the  dark.  This 
man,  here,  is  your  husband." 

She  went  red  as  a  rose  blushing  on  her  green  throne 
at  the  coming  of  the  dawn. 

"  Messire." 

"  Your  pardon." 

"  Ah,  I  am  no  wife,"  she  said  to  him.  "  God  knows 
but  for  this  man  I  should  be  friendless  and  without  home. 
He  has  spread  honour  and  chivalry  before  my  feet  like  a 
snow-white  cloak.  Even  in  this,  my  godless  vengeance, 
he  has  served  me." 

The  man  strode  suddenly  towards  the  dais,  with  his  face 
turned  up  to  hers.  A  strange  light  played  upon  it,  half 
of  passion,  half  of  pity.  His  voice  shook,  for  all  its 
sanguine  strength. 

"  Ah,  madame,  tell  me  one  thing  before  I  go." 

"  Messire." 

"  Have  I  your  pardon  ?  " 

"  If  you  love  life,  messire,  leave  me." 

11  Have  I  your  pardon  ?  " 

"  Go  !  ere  it  is  too  late." 

Like  a  ghostly  retort  to  her  appeal  came  the  sound  of 
armed  men  thundering  over  the  bridge.  Their  rough 
voices  rose  in  the  night's  silence,  smitten  through  with 
the  clash  and  clangour  of  arms.  Fulviac  had  caught 
John  of  Brissac's  company  in  the  woods  by  Gilderoy. 
There  had  been  a  bloody  tussle  and  much  slaughter. 
Triumphant,  they  were  at  the  gate  with  Prosper  the 
Preacher  in  their  midst. 

The  pair  in  the  cavern  stared  at  each  other  with  a  mute 
appeal. 

"  Fulviac,"  said  the  girl  in  a  whisper. 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  89 

"  The  door  !  " 

« It  is  barred." 

They  were  silent  and  round-eyed,  as  children  caught 
in  the  midst  of  mischief.  Mailed  fists  and  pike  staves 
were  beating  upon  the  gate.  A  babel  of  impatience 
welled  up  without. 

"  Adrian,  Gregory  !  " 

"  Lazy  curs  !  " 

"  Unbar,  unbar  !  " 

Mocking  silence  leered  in  retort.  Yeoland  and  the 
Lord  of  Avalon  were  still  as  mice.  The  din  slackened 
and  waned,  as  though  Fulviac's  men  were  listening  for 
sound  of  life  within.  Then  came  more  blows  upon  the 
gate ;  fingers  fumbled  at  the  closed  grill.  The  man 
Gregory  lay  and  stared  at  the  rocky  roof;  Adrian  sat 
with  his  face  pooled  by  his  own  blood. 

A  fiercer  voice  sounded  above  the  clamour.  It  was 
Fulviac's.  The  girl  shivered  as  she  stood. 

"  Ho,  there,  Gregory,  Adrian  ;  what's  amiss  with  ye  ?  " 

Still  silence,  mocking  and  implacable.  The  lull  held  for 
the  moment;  then  the  storm  gathered. 

"  Break  down  the  gate,"  roared  the  voice ;  "  by  God, 
we  will  see  the  bottom  of  this  damned  silence." 

The  Lord  Flavian  of  Avalon  had  stood  listening  with 
the  look  of  a  man  cooped  in  a  cavern,  who  hears  the  sea 
surging  to  his  feet.  He  glanced  at  the  dead  guards,  and 
went  white.  To  save  his  soul  from  purgatory  it  behoved 
him  to  act,  and  to  act  quickly.  A  single  lamp  still  burnt 
in  the  oratory  of  hope.  He  went  near  to  the  girl  on  the 
dais,  and  held  up  the  crossed  hilt  of  his  sword. 

"  By  the  Holy  Cross,  mercy  !  " 

She  cast  a  frightened  glance  into  his  eyes,  and  continued 
mute  a  moment.  The  thunder  grew  against  the  gate,  the 
crash  of  steel,  a  rending  din  that  went  echoing  into  all  the 
pits  and  passage-ways  of  the  place.  Fulviac's  men  had 
dragged  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  pine  up  the  causeway,  and 
were  charging  the  gate  till  the  timber  groaned. 


9O  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

The  man,  with  his  sword  held  like  a  crucifix,  stood  and 
pleaded  with  his  eyes. 

"  Mercy  !  "  he  said ;  "  you  know  this  warren  and  can 
save  me." 

"  Are  you  a  craven  ?  " 

"  Craven  ?  before  God,  no,  only  desperate.  What  hope 
have  I  unharnessed,  one  sword  against  fifty  ?  " 

For  yet  another  moment  she  appeared  irresolute,  dazed 
by  the  vision  of  Fulviac's  powerful  wrath.  He  was  a  stark 
man  and  a  terrible,  and  she  feared  him.  The  timbers  of 
the  gate  began  to  crack  and  gape.  Flavian  of  Avalon 
lifted  up  his  voice  to  her  with  a  passionate  outburst  of 
despair. 

"  God,  madame,  I  cannot  die.  I  am  young,  look  at  me, 
life  is  at  its  dawn.  By  your  woman's  mercy,  hide  me. 
Give  me  not  back  to  death." 

His  bitter  agitation  smote  her  to  the  core.  She  looked 
into  his  eyes ;  they  were  hungry  as  love,  and  very  piteous. 
There  could  be  no  sinning  against  those  eyes.  Great  fear 
flooded  over  her  like  a  green  billow,  bearing  her  to  the  in- 
evitable. In  a  moment  she  was  as  hot  to  save  him  as  if 
he  had  been  her  lover. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  "  quick,  before  the  gate  gives." 

She  led  him  like  the  wind  through  Fulviac's  parlour,  and 
down  the  gallery  to  her  own  bower.  It  was  dark  and 
lampless.  She  groped  to  the  postern,  fumbled  at  the  latch 
and  conquered  it.  Night  streamed  in.  She  pushed  the 
man  out  and  pointed  to  the  steps. 

"  The  forest,"  she  said,  "  for  your  life ;  bear  by  the  stars 
for  the  north." 

A  full  moon  had  reared  her  silver  buckler  in  the 
sky.  The  night  was  sinless  and  superb,  drowned  in 
a  mist  of  phosphor  glory.  The  man  knelt  at  her 
feet  a  moment,  and  pressed  his  lips  to  the  hem  of  her 
gown. 

"  The  Virgin  bless  you  !  " 

"Go " 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  91 

"  I  shall  remember." 

He  descended  and  disappeared  where  the  trees  swept  up 
with  wizard  glimmerings  to  touch  the  cliff.  When  he  had 
fled,  Yeoland  passed  back  into  the  cavern,  and  met  Fulviac 
before  the  splintered  gate  with  a  lie  upon  her  lips. 


PART    II 


XIII 

FRA  BALTHASAR  rubbed  his  colours  in  the  chapel  of  Castle 
Avalon,  and  stared  complacently  upon  the  frescoes  his  fingers 
had  called  into  being. 

A  migratory  friar,  Fra  Balthasar  had  come  from  the 
rich  skies,  the  purple  vineyards,  the  glimmering  orange 
groves  of  the  far  south.  Gossip  hinted  that  a  certain 
romantic  indiscretion  had  driven  him  northwards  over 
the  sea.  A  "  bend  sinister  "  ran  athwart  his  reputation  as 
a  priest.  Men  muttered  that  he  was  an  infidel,  a  blasphe- 
mous vagabond,  versed  in  all  the  damnable  heresies  of 
antiquity.  Be  that  as  it  may,  Fra  Balthasar  had  come 
to  Gilderoy  on  a  white  mule,  with  two  servants  at  his 
back,  an  apt  tongue  to  serve  him,  and  much  craft  as  a 
painter  and  goldsmith.  He  had  set  up  a  bottega  at 
Gilderoy,  and  had  cozened  the  patronage  of  the  magnates 
and  the  merchants.  Moreover,  he  had  netted  the  favour 
of  the  Lord  Flavian  of  Avalon,  and  was  blazoning  his 
chapel  for  him  with  the  lavish  fancy  of  a  Florentine. 

Fra  Balthasar  stood  in  a  cataract  of  sunlight,  that 
poured  in  through  a  painted  window  in  the  west.  He 
wore  the  white  habit  of  Dominic  and  the  long  black 
mantle.  A  golden  mist  played  about  his  figure  as  he 
rubbed  his  palette,  and  scanned  with  the  egotism  of  the 
artist  the  Pieta  painted  above  the  Lord  Flavian's  state 
stall.  That  gentleman,  in  the  flesh,  had  established  him- 
self on  a  velvet  hassock  before  the  altar  steps,  thus  flatter- 
ing the  friar  in  the  part  of  a  sympathetic  patron.  The 
Lord  of  Avalon  had  dedicated  his  own  person  to  art  as 
an  Eastern  King  in  the  splendour  of  Gothic  arms,  kneeling 
bare-headed  before  the  infant  Christ. 

95 


96  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

Fra  Balthasar  was  a  plump  man  and  a  comely,  black 
of  eye  and  full  of  lip.  His  shaven  chin  shone  blue  as 
sleek  velvet.  He  had  turned  from  the  Pieta  towards  the 
altar,  where  a  triptych  gleamed  with  massed  and  brilliant 
colour.  The  Virgin,  a  palpitating  divinity  breathing  stars 
and  gems  from  her  full  bosom,  gazed  with  a  face  of 
sensuous  serenity  at  the  infant  lying  in  her  lap.  She 
seemed  to  exhale  an  atmosphere  of  gold.  On  either  wing, 
angels,  transcendant  girls  in  green  and  silver,  purple  and 
azure,  scarlet  and  white,  made  the  soul  swim  with  visions 
of  ruddy  lips  and  milk-white  hands.  Their  wings  gleamed 
like  opals.  They  looked  too  frail  for  angels,  too  human 
for  heaven. 

The  Lord  of  Avalon  sat  on  his  scarlet  hassock,  and 
stared  at  the  Madonna  with  some  measure  of  awe.  She 
was  no  attenuated,  angular,  green-faced  fragment  of 
saintliness,  but  by  every  curve  a  woman,  from  plump 
finger  to  coral  lip. 

"  You  are  no  Byzantine,"  quoth  the  man  on  the  hassock, 
with  something  of  a  sigh. 

The  priest  glanced  at  him  and  smiled.  There  were 
curves  in  lip  and  nostril  that  were  more  than  indicative 
of  a  sleek  and  sensuous  worldliness.  Fra  Balthasar  was 
much  of  an  Antinous,  and  doted  on  the  conviction. 

"  I  paint  women,  messire,"  he  said. 

His  lordship  laughed. 

"  Divinities  ?  " 

Balthasar  flourished  his  brush. 

"  Divine  creatures,  golden  flowers  of  the  world.  Give 
me  the  rose  to  crush  against  my  mouth,  violets  to  burn 
upon  my  bosom.  Truth,  sire,  consider  the  sparkling 
roundness  of  a  woman's  arm.  Consider  her  wine-red  lips, 
her  sinful  eyes,  her  lily  fingers  dropping  spikenard  into 
the  soul.  I  confess,  sire,  that  I  am  a  man." 

The  friar's  opulent  extravagance  of  sentiment  suited  the 
litheness  of  his  look.  Balthasar  had  enthroned  himself  in 
his  own  imagination  as  a  species  of  Apollo,  a  golden-tongued 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  97 

seer,  whose  soul  soared  into  the  glittering  infinitudes  of  art. 
An  immense  egotist,  he  posed  as  a  full-blooded  divinity, 
palpitating  to  colour  and  to  sound.  He  had  as  many 
moods  as  a  vain  woman,  and  was  a  mere  fire-fly  in  the 
matter  of  honour. 

"  Reverend  sire,"  quoth  the  man  on  the  footstool  with 
some  tightening  of  the  upper  lip,  "  you  bulk  too  big  for 
your  frock,  methinks." 

Balthasar  touched  a  panel  with  his  brush ;  cast  a  glance 
over  his  shoulder,  with  a  cynical  lifting  of  the  nostril. 

u  My  frock  serves  me,  sire,  as  well  as  a  coat  of  mail." 

*'  And  you  believe  the  things  you  paint  ?  " 

The  man  swept  a  vermilion  streak  from  his  brush. 

"  An  ingenuous  question,  messire." 

"  I  am  ever  ingenuous." 

"A  perilous  habit." 

"Yet  you  have  not  answered  me." 

The  friar  tilted  his  chin  like  a  woman  eyeing  herself  in 
a  mirror. 

"  Religion  is  full  of  picturesque  incidents,"  he  said. 

"  And  is  profitable." 

"  Sire,  you  shame  Solomon.  There  are  ever  many  rich 
and  devout  fools  in  the  world.  Give  me  a  gleaming  Venus, 
rising  ruddy  from  the  sea,  rather  than  a  lachrymose  Mag- 
dalene. But  what  would  you?  I  trim  my  Venus  up  in 
fine  apparel,  put  a  puling  infant  in  her  lap.  Ecce — Sancta 
Maria." 

The  man  on  the  footstool  smiled  despite  the  jester's 
theme,  a  smile  that  had  more  scorn  in  it  than  sympathy. 

"You  verge  on  blasphemy,"  he  said. 

"  There  can  be  no  blasphemy  where  there  is  no  belief." 

"  You  are  over  subtle,  my  friend." 

"  Nay,  sire,  I  have  come  by  that  godliness  of  mind  when 
man  discovers  his  own  godhead.  Let  your  soul  soar,  I 
say,  let  it  beat  its  wings  into  the  blue  of  life.  Hence  with 
superstition.  Shall  I  subordinate  my  mind  to  the  prosings 
of  a  mad  charlatan  such  as  Saul  of  Tarsus  ?  Shall  I,  like 


98  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

each  rat  in  this  mortal  drain,  believe  that  some  god  cares 
when  I  have  gout  in  my  toe,  or  when  I  am  tempted  to  bow 
to  Venus  ?  " 

The  man  on  the  hassock  grimaced,  and  eyed  the  friar 
much  as  though  he  had  stumbled  on  some  being  from  the 
underworld.  He  was  a  mystic  for  all  his  manhood. 

"  God  pity  your  creed,"  he  said. 

"  God,  the  inflated  mortal " 

"  Enough." 

"  This  man  god  of  yours  who  tosses  the  stars  like  so 
many  lemons." 

"  Enough,  sir  friar." 

"  Defend  me  from  your  mass  of  metaphor,  your  relics 
of  barbarism.  We,  the  wise  ones,  have  our  own  hierarchy, 
our  own  Olympus." 

"  On  my  soul,  you  are  welcome  to  it,"  quoth  the  man 
by  the  altar. 

Balthasar's  hand  worked  viciously ;  he  was  strenuous 
towards  his  own  beliefs,  after  the  fashion  of  dreamers  de- 
lirious with  egotism.  The  very  splendour  of  his  infidelity 
took  its  birth  from  the  fact  that  it  was  largely  of  his  own 
creating.  His  pert  iconoclasm  pandered  to  his  own  vast 
self-esteem. 

"  Tell  me  for  what  you  live,"  said  the  man  by  the 
altar. 

"  For  beauty." 

"  And  the  senses  ?  " 

"  Colours,  odours,  sounds.  To  breathe,  to  burn,  and 
to  enjoy.  To  be  a  Greek  and  a  god." 

«  And  life  ?  " 

"  Is  a  great  fresco,  a  pageant  of  passions." 

The  Lord  of  Avalon  sprang  up  and  began  to  pace  the 
aisle  with  the  air  of  a  man  whose  blood  is  fevered.  For 
all  his  devoutness  and  his  mystical  fidelity,  he  was  in  too 
human  and  passionate  a  mood  to  be  invulnerable  to  Bal- 
thasar's sensuous  shafts  of  fire.  The  Lord  Flavian  had 
come  by  a  transcendental  star-soaring  spirit,  an  inspiration 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  99 

that  had  torched  the  wild  beacon  of  romance.  He  was 
red  for  a  riot  of  chivalry,  a  passage  of  desire. 

Turning  back  towards  the  altar,  he  faced  the  Madonna 
with  her  choir  of  angel  girls.  Fra  Balthasar  was  watch- 
ing him  with  a  feline  sleekness  of  visage,  and  a  smile  that 
boasted  something  of  contempt.  The  friar  considered  spirit- 
uality a  species  of  magician's  lanthorn  for  the  cozening  of 
fools. 

"  What  quip  have  you  for  love  ?  "  said  the  younger  man, 
halting  by  the  altar  rails. 

Balthasar  stood  with  poised  brush. 

"There  is  some  sincerity  in  the  emotion,"  he  said. 

"  You  are  experienced  ?  " 

"  Sire,  consider  my  c  habit.'  " 

The  friar's  mock  horror  was  surprising,  an  excellent  jest 
that  fell  like  a  blunted  bolt  from  the  steel  of  a  vigorous 
manhood.  The  Lord  Flavian  ran  on. 

"  Shall  I  fence  with  an  infidel  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Sire,  a  man  may  be  a  man  without  the  creed  of 
Athanasius." 

"  How  much  of  me  do  you  understand  ?  " 

Fra  Balthasar  cleared  his  throat. 

"The  Lady  Duessa,  sire,  is  a  rose  of  joy." 

«  Monk ! " 

"  My  lord,  it  was  your  dictum  that  you  are  ever  ingenu- 
ous. I  echo  you." 

"  Need  I  confess  to  you  on  such  a  subject  ? " 

"  Nay,  sire,  you  have  the  inconsistency  of  a  poet." 

"  How  so  ?  " 

"  Well,  well,  one  can  sniff  rotten  apples  without  opening 
the  door  of  the  cupboard." 

The  younger  man  jerked  away,  and  went  striding  be- 
twixt the  array  of  frescoes  with  something  of  the  wild 
vigour  of  a  blind  Polyphemus.  Balthasar,  subtle  sophist, 
watched  him  from  the  angle  of  his  eye  with  the  sardonic 
superiority  of  one  well  versed  in  the  contradictions  of  the 
world.  He  had  scribbled  a  shrewd  sketch  of  the  passions 


IOO  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

stirring  in  his  patron's  heart.  Had  he  not  heard  from  the 
man's  own  lips  of  the  white-faced  elf  of  the  pine  woods 
and  her  vengeance  ?  And  the  Lady  Duessa !  Fra  Bal- 
thasar  was  as  wise  in  the  gossip  of  Gilderoy  as  any  woman. 

"  Sire,"  he  said,  as  the  aristocrat  turned  in  his  stride,  "  I 
ask  of  you  a  bold  favour." 

"  Speak  out." 

"  Suffer  me  to  paint  your  mood  in  words." 

The  man  stared,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  smiled  enig- 
matically. 

"  Try  your  craft,"  he  said. 

Balthasar  began  splashing  in  a  foreground  with  irritable 
bravado. 

"  My  lord,  you  were  a  fool  at  twenty,"  were  his  words. 

"  A  thrice  damned  fool,"  came  the  echo. 

Balthasar  chuckled. 

"  And  now,  messire,  a  golden  chain  makes  a  Tantalus 
of  you.  Life  crawls  like  a  sluggish  river.  You  chafe, 
you  strain,  you  rebel,  feed  on  your  own  heart,  sin  to  assert 
your  liberty.  Youth  slips  from  you ;  the  sky  narrows 
about  your  ears.  Well,  well,  have  I  not  read  aright  ?  " 

"  Speak  on,"  quoth  the  man  by  the  altar. 

"  Ah,  sire,  it  is  the  old  tale.  They  have  cramped  up 
your  youth  with  book  and  ring ;  shut  you  up  in  a  moral 
sarcophagus  with  a  woman  they  call  your  wife.  You  burn 
for  liberty,  and  the  unknown  that  shines  like  a  purple  streak 
in  a  fading  west.  Ah,  sire,  you  look  for  that  one  marvel- 
lous being,  who  shall  torch  again  the  youth  in  your  heart, 
make  your  blood  burn,  your  soul  to  sing.  That  one  woman 
in  the  world,  mysterious  as  the  moon,  subtle  as  the  night, 
ineffably  strange  as  a  flaming  dawn.  That  woman  who 
shall  lift  you  to  the  stars  ;  whose  lips  suck  the  sap  of  the 
world  ;  whose  bosom  breathes  to  the  eternal  swoon  of  all 
sweet  sounds.  She  shall  light  the  lust  of  battle  in  your 
heart.  For  her  your  sword  shall  leap,  your  towers  totter. 
Chivalry  should  lead  you  like  a  pillar  of  fire  out  of  the 
night,  a  heroic  god  striving  for  a  goddess." 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  101 

The  Lord  of  Avalon  stood  before  the  high  altar  as  one 
transfigured.  Youth  leapt  in  him,  red,  glorious,  and  tri- 
umphant. Balthasar's  tongue  had  set  the  pyre  aburning. 

"  By  God,  it  is  the  truth,"  he  said. 

The  friar  gathered  his  brushes,  and  took  breath. 

"  Hast  thou  found  thy  Beatrice,  O  my  son  ?  " 

"  Have  I  gazed  into  heaven  ?  " 

Balthasar's  voice  filled  the  chapel. 

"  Live,  sire,  live  !  "  he  said. 

"  Ah ! " 

"  Be  mad  !  Drink  star  wine,  and  snufF  the  odours  of 
all  the  sunsets  !  Live,  live  !  You  can  repent  in  comfort 
when  you  are  sixty  and  measure  fifty  inches  round  the 
waist." 


XIV 

DAME  DUESSA  had  come  to  Avalon,  having  heard  certain 
whisperings  of  Gilderoy,  and  of  a  golden-haired  Astarte 
who  kept  house  there.  Dame  Duessa  was  a  proud  woman 
and  a  passionate,  headstrong  as  a  reformer,  jealous  as  a 
parish  priest.  She  boasted  a  great  ancestry  and  a  great 
name,  and  desires  and  convictions  in  keeping.  She  was  a 
woman  who  loved  her  robe  cupboard,  her  jewel-case,  and 
her  bed.  Moreover,  she  pretended  some  affection  for  the 
Lord  Flavian  her  husband,  perhaps  arrogance  of  ownership, 
seeing  that  Dame  Duessa  was  very  determined  to  keep  him 
in  bonded  compact  with  herself.  She  suspected  that  the 
man  did  not  consider  her  a  saint,  or  worship  her  as  such. 
Yet,  termagant  that  she  was,  Dame  Duessa  could  suffer 
some  trampling  of  empty  sentiment,  provided  Fate  did  not 
rob  her  of  her  share  in  the  broad  demesne  and  rent-roll  of 
Gambrevault. 

Avalon  was  a  castle  of  ten  towers,  linked  by  a  strong 
curtain  wall,  and  built  about  a  large  central  court  and 
garden.  A  great  moat  circled  the  whole,  a  moat  broad 
and  silvery  as  a  lake,  with  water-lilies  growing  thick  in 
the  shallows.  Beyond  the  moat,  sleek  meadows  tufted 
with  green  rushes  swept  to  the  gnarled  piers  of  the  old 
oaks  that  vanguarded  the  forest.  The  black  towers 
slumbered  in  a  mist  of  green,  girded  with  sheeny  water, 
tented  by  the  azure  of  a  southern  sky. 

Dame  Duessa,  being  a  lady  of  silks  and  tissues,  did  not 
love  the  place  with  all  her  soul.  Avalon  of  the  Orchards 
was  dull,  and  smacked  of  Arcady ;  it  was  far  removed  from 
that  island  of  fair  sin,  Lauretia,  the  King's  city.  Moreover, 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  1 03 

the  Lord  Flavian  and  his  ungallant  gentlemen  held  rigor- 
ously to  the  northern  turrets,  leaving  her  to  lodge  ascetic- 
ally  in  her  rich  chamber  in  a  southern  tower. 

Her  husband  contrived  to  exile  himself  as  far  as  Castle 
Avalon  could  suffer  him.  If  the  pair  went  to  mass,  they 
went  separately,  with  the  frigid  hauteur  of  an  Athanasius 
handing  an  Aryus  over  to  hell.  When  they  hunted  they 
rode  towards  opposite  stars.  No  children  had  chastened 
them,  pledges  of  heaven-given  life.  The  Lady  Duessa 
detested  ought  that  hinted  at  caudle,  swaddling-clothes, 
and  cradles.  Moreover,  all  Avalon  seemed  in  league  with 
the  Lord  Flavian.  Knights,  esquires,  scullions,  horse-boys 
swore  by  him  as  though  he  were  a  Bayard.  Dame  Duessa 
could  rely  solely  on  a  prig  of  a  page,  and  a  lady-in-wait- 
ing who  wore  a  wig,  and  perhaps  on  Fra  Balthasar,  the 
Dominican. 

Meanwhile,  the  Lord  of  Avalon  had  been  putting  forth 
his  penitence  in  stone  and  timber,  and  an  army  of  crafts- 
men from  Geraint.  The  glade  in  Cambremont  wood  rang 
to  the  swing  of  axes  and  the  hoarse  groaning  of  the  saw. 
The  tower  had  been  purged  of  its  ashes,  its  rooms  re- 
timbered,  its  casements  filled  with  glass.  A  chapel  was 
springing  into  life  under  the  trees ;  the  cleverest  masons  of 
the  south  were  at  work  upon  its  pillars  and  its  arches.  Fra 
Balthasar,  the  Dominican,  held  sway  over  the  whole,  subtle 
in  colour  and  the  carving  of  stone.  Flavian  could  have 
found  no  better  pander  to  his  penitence.  Rose  nobles  had 
been  squandered.  Frescoes,  jewel  bright,  were  to  blaze  out, 
upon  the  walls.  The  vaulted  roof  was  to  be  constellated 
with  glimmering  gold  stars,  shining  from  skies  of  purple 
and  azure. 

To  turn  to  Fulviac's  great  cliff  hid  in  the  dark  depths  of 
the  forest  of  pines.  The  disloyal  chaff  of  the  kingdom 
was  wafted  thither  day  by  day,  borne  on  the  conspiring 
breeze.  The  forest  engulfed  all  comers  and  delivered 
them  like  ghosts  into  Fulviac's  caverns.  An  army  might 
have  melted  into  the  wilds,  and  the  countryside  have  been 


104  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUlN$ 

none  the  wiser.  Amid  the  pines  and  rocks  of  the  cliffs 
there  were  marchings  and  countermarchings,  much  shoul- 
dering of  pikes  and  ordering  of  companies.  Veterans  who 
had  fought  the  infidels  under  Wenceslaus,  drilled  the  raw 
levies,  and  inculcated  with  hoarse  bellowings  the  rudiments 
of  military  reason.  They  were  rough  gentlemen,  and 
Fulviac  stroked  them  with  a  gauntlet  of  iron.  They  were 
to  attempt  liberty  together,  and  he  demonstrated  to  them 
that  such  freedom  could  be  won  solely  by  discipline  and 
soldierly  concord.  The  rogues  grumbled  and  swore  behind 
his  back,  but  were  glad  in  their  hearts  to  have  a  man  for 
master. 

To  speak  again  of  the  girl  Yeoland.  That  March  night 
she  had  met  Fulviac  over  the  wreckage  of  the  broken  gate, 
and  had  made  a  profession  of  the  truth,  so  far,  she  said,  as 
she  could  conjecture  it.  She  had  been  long  in  the  forest, 
had  returned  to  the  cliff  to  find  the  guards  slain,  and  the 
Lord  Flavian  gone.  By  some  device  he  had  escaped  from 
his  shackles,  slain  the  men,  and  fled  by  the  northern  pos- 
tern. The  woman  made  a  goodly  pretence  of  vexation  of 
spirit  over  the  escape  of  this  reprobate.  She  even  taunted 
Fulviac  with  foolhardiness,  and  lack  of  foresight  in  so 
bungling  her  vengeance. 

The  man's  escape  from  the  clifF  roused  Fulviac's  ener- 
gies to  full  flood.  The  aristocrat  of  Avalon  was  ignorant 
of  the  volcano  bubbling  under  his  feet,  yet  any  retaliatory 
meddling  on  his  part  might  prove  disastrous  at  so  critical 
an  hour.  Fulviac  thrust  forward  the  wheels  of  war  with  a 
heavy  hand.  The  torrents  of  sedition  and  discontent  were 
converging  to  a  river  of  revolt,  that  threatened  to  crush 
tyranny  as  an  avalanche  crushes  a  forest. 

The  Virgin  with  her  moon-white  face  still  inspired 
Yeoland  with  the  visionary  behest  given  in  the  ruined 
chapel.  The  girl's  fingers  toiled  at  the  scarlet  banner; 
she  spent  half  her  days  upon  her  knees,  devout  as  any 
Helena.  She  knew  Fulviac's  schemes  as  surely  as  she  did 
the  beads  on  her  rosary.  The  rough  rangers  of  the  forest 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  10$ 

held  her  to  be  a  saint,  and  knelt  to  touch  her  dress  as  she 
passed  by. 

Yet  what  are  dreams  but  snowflakes  drifting  from  the 
heavens,  now  white,  now  red,  as  God  or  man  carries  the 
lamp  of  love  ?  The  girl's  ecstasy  of  faith  was  but  a  potion 
to  her,  dazing  her  from  a  yet  more  subtle  dream.  A  faint 
voice  summoned  her  from  the  unknown.  She  would  hear 
it  often  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  or  at  full  noon  as  she 
faltered  in  her  prayers.  The  rosary  would  hang  idle  on 
her  wrist,  the  crucifix  melt  from  her  vision.  She  would 
find  her  heart  glowing  like  a  rose  at  the  touch  of  the  sun. 
Anon,  frightened,  she  would  shake  the  human  half  of  her- 
self, and  run  back  penitent  to  her  prayers. 

It  was  springtide  and  the  year's  youth,  when  memories 
are  garlanded  with  green,  and  romance  scatters  wind- 
flowers  over  the  world.  Many  voices  awoke,  like  the 
chanting  of  birds,  in  Yeoland's  heart.  She  desired,  even 
as  a  swallow,  to  see  the  old  haunts  again,  to  go  a  pilgrim 
to  the  place  where  the  dear  dead  slept.  Was  it  yearning 
grief,  or  a  joy  more  subtle,  the  cry  of  the  wild  and  the 
voice  of  desire?  Mayhap  white  flowers  shone  on  the 
tree  of  life,  prophetic  of  fruit  in  the  mellow  year.  Jaspar 
the  harper  heard  her  plea  ;  'twas  wilful  and  eager,  but  what 
of  that !  Fulviac,  good  man,  had  ridden  to  Gilderoy. 
The  girl  had  liberty  enough  and  to  spare.  She  took  it 
and  Jaspar,  and  rode  out  from  the  cliff. 

Threading  the  sables  of  the  woods,  they  came  one  noon 
to  the  open  moor.  It  was  golden  with  the  western  sun, 
solitary  as  the  sea.  The  shadows  were  long  upon  the 
sward  when  Cambremont  wood  billowed  out  in  its  valley. 
There  was  no  hope  of  their  reaching  the  tower  before 
dusk,  so  they  piled  dead  bracken  under  a  cedar,  where  the 
shelving  eaves  swept  to  the  ground. 

They  were  astir  early  upon  the  morrow,  a  sun-chastened 
wind  inspiring  the  woodlands,  and  sculpturing  grand  friezes 
from  the  marbles  of  the  sky.  The  forest  was  full  of  the 
glory  of  Spring,  starred  with  anemones  and  dusted  with  the 


106  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

azure  campaniles  of  the  hyacinth  horde.  Primroses  lurked 
on  the  lush  green  slopes.  In  the  glades,  the  forest  peri- 
styles, green  gorse  blazed  with  its  constellations  of  gold. 

To  the  dolt  and  the  hag  the  world  is  nothing  but  a  fat 
larder;  only  the  unregenerate  are  blind  of  soul.  Beauty, 
Diana-like,  shows  not  her  naked  loveliness  to  all.  The 
girl  Yeoland's  eyes  were  full  of  a  strange  lustre  that  May 
morning.  Many  familiar  landmarks  did  she  pass  upon  the 
way,  notched  deep  on  the  cross  of  memory.  There  stood 
the  great  beech  tree  where  Bertrand  had  carved  his  name, 
and  the  smooth  bark  still  bore  the  scars  where  the  knife 
had  wantoned.  She  forded  the  stream  where  Roland's 
pony  had  once  pitched  him  into  the  mire.  Her  eyes  grew 
dim  as  she  rode  through  the  sun-steeped  woods. 

The  day  had  drawn  towards  noon  when  they  neared 
the  glade  in  the  midst  of  Cambremont  wood.  Heavy  wain 
wheels  had  scarred  the  smooth  green  of  the  ride,  and  the 
newly-sawn  pedestals  of  fallen  oaks  showed  where  wood- 
men had  been  felling  timber.  To  Jaspar  the  harper  these 
signs  were  more  eloquent  of  peril  than  of  peace.  He  began 
to  snuff  the  air  like  an  old  hound,  and  to  jerk  restless 
glances  at  the  girl  at  his  side. 

"See  where  wheels  have  been,"  he  began. 

"  And  axes,  my  friend." 

"  What  means  it  ?  " 

"  Some  one  rebuilds  the  tower." 

The  harper  wagged  his  head  and  half  turned  his  horse 
from  the  grass  ride. 

"  Have  a  care,"  he  said. 

"  Hide  in  the  woods  if  you  will." 

She  rode  on  with  a  triumphant  wilfulness  and  he  followed 
her. 

As  they  neared  the  glade,  the  noise  of  axe  and  hammer 
floated  on  the  wind,  and  they  saw  the  scene  flicker  towards 
them  betwixt  the  great  boles  of  the  trees.  The  tower  stood 
with  battlements  of  fresh  white  stone  ;  its  windows  had  been 
reset,  the  blasting  touch  of  fire  effaced  from  the  walls.  The 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  IO/ 

glade  was  strewn  with  blocks  of  stone  and  lengths  of  tim- 
ber; the  walls  of  a  chapel  were  rising  from  the  grass.  Men 
were  digging  trenches  for  the  foundations  of  the  priest's 
cell.  Soldiers  idled  about  gossiping  with  the  masons. 

There  was  a  smile  in  the  girl's  eyes  and  a  deeper  tint 
upon  her  cheeks  as  she  stared  betwixt  the  trees  at  the 
regarnished  tower.  Those  grey  eyes  had  promised  the 
truth  in  Fulviac's  cavern.  She  was  glad  in  her  heart  of 
the  man's  honour,  glad  with  a  magic  that  made  her  colour. 
As  for  the  harper,  he  stroked  his  grey  beard  and  was  mute. 
He  lacked  imagination,  and  was  no  longer  young. 

On  a  stump  of  an  oak  tree  at  the  edge  of  the  wood  sat  a 
man  in  a  black  mantle  and  a  habit  of  white  cloth.  He  had 
a  panel  upon  his  knee,  and  a  small  wooden  chest  beside  him 
on  the  grass.  His  eyes  were  turned  often  to  the  rolling 
woods,  as  his  plump  hand  flourished  a  brush  with  nervous 
and  graceful  gestures. 

Seeing  the  man's  tonsure,  and  his  dress  that  marked  him 
a  Dominican,  Yeoland  rode  out  from  the  trees,  casting  her 
horse's  shadow  athwart  his  work.  The  man  looked  up 
with  puckered  brow,  his  keen  eye  framing  the  girl's  figure 
at  a  glance.  It  was  his  destiny  to  see  the  romantic  and 
the  beautiful  in  all  things. 

The  priest  and  the  girl  on  the  horse  eyed  each  other  a 
moment  in  silence.  Each  was  instinctively  examining  the 
other.  The  churchman,  with  an  approving  glint  of  the 
eye,  was  the  first  to  break  the  woodland  silence. 

"  Peace  be  with  you,  madame." 

His  tone  hinted  at  a  question,  and  the  girl  adopted  there- 
with an  ingenuous  duplicity. 

"  My  man  and  I  were  of  a  hunting  party,"  she  said ; 
"we  went  astray  in  the  wood.  You,  Father,  will  guide 
us  ?  " 

"  Madame  has  not  discovered  to  me  her  desire." 

"  We  wish  for  Gilderoy." 

Balthasar  rose  and  pointed  with  his  brush  towards  the 
ride  by  which  they  had  come.  He  mapped  the  road  for 


108  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

them  with  sundry  jaunty  flourishes,  and  much  showing  of 
his  white  teeth.  Yeoland  thanked  him,  but  was  still 
curious. 

"  Ah,  Father,  whither  have  we  wandered  ?  " 
"  Men  call  it  Cambremont  wood,  madame." 
"  And  these  buildings  ?     A  retreat,  doubtless,  for  holy 
men." 

Balthasar  corrected  her  with  much  unction. 
"The  Lord  Flavian  of  Avalon   builds   here,"  he  said, 
"but  not   for  monks.     I,  madame,  am   his  architect,   his 
pedagogue  in  painting." 

Yeoland  pretended  interest.  She  craned  forward  over 
her  horse's  neck  and  looked  at  the  priest's  panel.  The  act 
decided  him.  Since  she  was  young  and  comely,  Balthasar 
seized  the  chance  of  a  chivalrous  service.  The  girl  had 
fine  eyes,  and  a  neck  worthy  of  a  Venus. 

"  Madame  has  taste.  She  would  see  our  work  ?  " 
Madame  appeared  very  ready  to  grant  the  favour. 
Balthasar  put  his  brushes  aside,  held  the  girl's  stirrup,  and, 
unconscious  of  the  irony  of  the  act,  expatiated  to  Yeoland 
on  the  beauties  of  her  own  home.  At  the  end  of  their 
pilgrimage,  being  not  a  little  bewitched  by  such  eyes  and 
such  a  face,  he  begged  of  her  the  liberty  of  painting  her 
there  and  then.  'Twas  for  the  enriching  of  religious  art, 
as  he  very  properly  put  it. 

Dead  Rual's  grave  was  not  ten  paces  distant,  and  Jaspar 
was  standing  by  it  as  in  prayer.  Thus,  Yeoland  sat  to  Fra 
Balthasar,  oblivious  of  him  indeed  as  his  fingers  brought  her 
fair  face  into  being,  her  shapely  throat  and  raven  hair. 
His  picture  perfected,  he  blessed  her  with  the  unction  of  a 
bishop,  and  stood  watching  her  as  she  vanished  down  the 
southern  ride,  graceful  and  immaculate  as  a  young  Dian. 


XV 

HARDLY  had  an  hour  passed,  and  Fra  Balthasar  was  still 
touching  the  study  he  had  made  of  Yeoland's  face,  when 
a  company  of  spears  flashed  out  by  the  northern  ride 
into  the  clearing.  At  their  head  rode  a  knight  in  harness 
of  burnished  steel,  a  splendid  figure  flashing  chivalry  in  the 
eyes  of  the  sun.  On  his  shield  he  bore  "  a  castle,  argent, 
with  ports  voided  of  the  field,  on  a  field  vert,"  the  arms  of 
the  house  of  Gambrevault.  His  surcoat  was  diapered 
azure  and  green  with  three  gold  suns  blazoned  thereon. 
His  baldric,  a  splendid  streak  of  scarlet  silk,  slashed  his 
surcoat  as  with  blood.  His  troop,  men  in  half  armour, 
rode  under  the  Pavon  Vert  of  the  demesne  of  Avalon. 

They  thundered  into  the  open  stretch  of  grass  with  a 
clangorous  rattle  of  steel.  Flavian,  bare-headed,  for  his 
salade  hung  at  his  saddle-bow  and  he  wore  no  camail, 
scanned  the  glade  with  a  keen  stare.  Seeing  Fra  Balthasar 
seated  under  a  tree,  he  turned  his  horse  towards  him,  and 
smiled  as  the  churchman  put  his  tools  aside  and  gave  him 
a  benediction.  The  man  made  a  fine  figure ;  judged  by 
the  flesh,  Balthasar  might  have  stood  for  an  Ambrose  or  a 
Leo. 

"  Herald  of  heaven,  how  goes  the  work  ?  " 

"  Sire,  we  emulate  Pericles." 

"  What  have  you  there,  a  woman's  head,  some  rare 
Madonna  ?  " 

Balthasar  showed  his  white  teeth. 

"  A  pretty  pastoral,  messire.  The  study  of  a  lady  who 
had  lost  her  way  hunting,  and  craved  my  guidance  this 
morning.  A  woman  with  the  face  and  figure  of  a  Dian." 

"  Ha,  rogue  of  the  brush,  let  us  see  it." 

109 


1 10  LOVE  AMONG    THE  XUINS 

Balthasar  passed  the  parchment  into  the  other's  hand. 
Flavian  stared  at  it,  flushed  to  the  temples,  rapped  out  an 
ejaculation  in  ecclesiastic  Latin.  His  eyes  devoured  the 
sketch  with  the  insatiable  enthusiasm  of  a  lover ;  words 
came  hot  off  his  tongue. 

"  Quick,  man,  quick,  is  this  true  to  life  ?  " 

"  As  ruby  to  ruby." 

"  None  of  your  idealisations  ?  " 

"  Messire,  but  an  hour  ago  that  girl  was  sitting  her 
horse  where  your  destrier  now  stands." 

"  And  you  sketched  this  at  her  desire  ?  " 

"  At  my  own,  sire ;  it  was  courtesy  for  courtesy :  I  had 
shown  her  our  handiwork  here." 

"  You  showed  her  this  tower  and  chapel  ?  " 

"Certainly,  sire." 

"  She  seemed  sad  ?  " 

"  Nay,  merry." 

"This  is  romance!"  He  lifted  the  little  picture  at 
arm's  length  to  the  sun,  kissed  it,  and  put  it  in  his  bosom. 
His  face  was  radiant ;  he  laughed  as  though  some  golden  joy 
rang  and  resounded  in  his  heart. 

"  A  hundred  golden  angels  for  this  face  !  " 

Fra  Balthasar  was  in  great  measure  mystified.  The 
Lord  of  Avalon  seemed  an  inflammable  gentleman. 

"  Messire,  you  are  ever  generous." 

"  Man,  man,  you  have  caught  the  one  woman  in  the 
world." 

"Sire " 

"The  Madonna  of  the  Pine  Forest,  the  Madonna  of 
Mercy ;  she  whose  kinsfolk  were  put  to  the  sword  by 
my  men ;  even  the  daughter  of  Rual  whose  tower  stands 
yonder." 

The  priest  comprehended  the  whole  in  a  moment. 
The  dramatic  quaintness  of  the  adventure  had  made  him 
echo  Flavian's  humour.  He  laughed  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"  Romance,  romance  !       By   all   the    lovers   who    ever 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  III 

loved,  by  Tristan  and  the  dark  Iseult,  by  Launcelot  and 
Guinivere,  follow  that  picture." 

"  Which  way  went  she  ?  " 

"  By  the  southern  ride,  towards  Gilderoy." 

The  man  was  in  heroic  humour;  his  sword  flashed  out 
and  shook  in  the  sun. 

"  By  God,  I'll  see  her  face  again,  and  yet  again,  though 
I  burn  in  hell  for  it.  Roland,  Godamar,  come,  men, 
come,  throw  away  your  spears.  Ride,  ride,  we  chase  the 
sunset.  Life  and  desire  !  " 

He  sprang  away  on  his  great  bay  horse,  a  shimmering 
shaft  of  youth  —  youth  that  flashed  forth  chivalry  into  the 
burgeoning  green  of  Spring.  The  sunlight  webbed  his 
hair  with  gold ;  his  face  glowed  like  a  martyr's.  Balthasar 
watched  him  with  much  poetic  zest,  as  he  swept  away 
with  his  thundering  knights  into  the  woods. 

The  friar  settled  to  his  work  again,  but  it  was  fated  that 
he  was  to  have  no  lasting  peace  that  morning.  He  was 
painting  in  a  background,  a  landscape,  to  a  small  Cruci- 
fixion. His  hand  was  out  of  touch,  however ;  the  subject 
was  not  congenial.  A  pale  face  and  a  pair  of  dusky  eyes 
had  deepened  a  different  stream  of  thought  in  the  man. 
Themes  hypersensuous  held  his  allegiance ;  from  prim 
catholic  ethics,  he  reverted  to  his  glorious  paganism  with 
an  ever-broadening  sense  of  satisfaction. 

He  was  interrupted  once  more,  and  not  unpleasantly, 
by  a  lady,  with  two  armed  servants  at  her  back,  riding  in 
from  the  forest  by  the  northern  ride.  The  woman  was 
clad  in  a  cloak  of  damask  red,  and  a  jupon  of  dark  green, 
broidered  with  azure  scroll  work.  Her  hood,  fallen  back, 
showed  her  purple  black  hair  bound  up  in  a  net  of  gold. 
Her  large  dark  eyes  flashed  and  smouldered  under  their 
long  lashes.  She  had  high  cheek-bones,  a  big  nose,  lips 
full  as  an  over-ripe  rose.  She  was  big  of  body,  voluptuous 
to  look  upon,  as  an  Eastern  odalisque,  a  woman  of  great 
passions,  great  appetites. 

Fra  Balthasar  tumbled  his  brushes  and  paints  aside,  and 


112  LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS 

went  to  meet  her  as  she  rode  over  the  grass.  There 
was  a  smile  on  the  man's  lips,  a  flush  upon  his  sleek  face, 
as  he  walked  with  a  courtly  and  debonair  vanity.  The 
woman  caught  sight  of  him  and  wheeled  her  horse  in  his 
direction.  The  autumn  splendour  of  her  cheeks  told  of 
hard  riding,  and  her  horse  dropped  foam  from  his  black 
muzzle. 

Fra  Balthasar  crossed  himself  with  much  meekness. 

"  Good  greeting,  Madame  Duessa,"  were  his  words,  as 
he  kept  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 

The  woman  scanned  the  glade  with  the  strenuous  spirit 
of  a  Boadicea. 

"  My  Lord  Flavian  ?  " 

«  Madame  ? " 

"  He  has  been  here." 

"  But  is  here  no  longer." 

"  These  buildings  ?  " 

"  Are  the  Lord  Flavian's." 

"  And  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  his  architect." 

"  Morally,  messire  monk  ?  " 

"  Madame,  I  do  not  edificate  souls." 

The  woman  stared  him  over  with  a  critical  comprehen- 
siveness. 

"  Balthasar." 

The  man  half  glanced  at  her. 

"  Look  me  in  the  face." 

He  gave  a  sigh,  made  a  gesture  with  his  hands, 
looked  melancholy  and  over-ecstasied  to  the  point  of 
despair. 

"  Madame,  there  are  thoughts  beyond  one's  liberty." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  There  are  women,  a  woman,  one  dares  not  look 
upon.  There  are  eyes,  well  —  well,  that  are  too  bright. 
Pardon  me,  I  would  serve  you." 

She  took  a  deep  breath,  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  a 
big,  warm  hand,  soft  and  white.  The  man's  lips 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  113 

burnt  upon  it.  She  touched  his  cheek  and  saw  him 
colour. 

«  Well  ? " 

u  My  Lord  Flavian  is  not  here." 

"  But  has  been.     Where  now  ?  " 

"  Away  hunting." 

«  Ha,  what  ?  " 

tt  Madame,  what  do  men  hunt  and  burn  for  ? " 

"  Sometimes  a  stag,  a  hare,  a  standard,  a  woman." 

41  Sometimes  —  a  woman." 

Balthasar,  looking  slantwise  under  half-closed  lids,  saw 
her  eyes  flash  and  her  lips  tighten. 

"  Which  way  ?  " 

"  The  southern  ride,  towards  Gilderoy." 

Duessa  shook  her  bridle,  and  threw  one  look  into 
Balthasar's  eyes. 

"  Remember,"  she  said,  "  remember,  a  woman  loves  a 
friend,  a  true  friend,  who  can  tell  a  lie,  or  keep  a  secret." 

Balthasar  watched  her  ride  away.  He  stood  and 
smiled  to  himself,  while  his  long  fingers  played  with  the 
folds  of  his  mantle.  Red  wine  was  bounding  in  his  blood, 
and  his  imagination  revelled.  He  was  a  poetic  ^person, 
and  a  poet's  soul  is  often  like  tinder,  safe  enough  till  the 
spark  falls. 

"  Gloria"  he  said  to  himself  with  a  smirk,  "  here's 
hunting  with  a  vengeance.  Two  women  and  a  man  ! 
The  devil  is  loose.  Soul  of  Masaccio,  that  woman  has 
fine  eyes." 

That  day,  when  the  sky  was  growing  red  over  the 
woods,  Flavian  and  his  troop  drew  close  on  the  heels  of 
Yeoland  and  the  harper.  The  man,  for  all  his  heat,  had 
kept  his  horse-flesh  well  in  hand.  Once  out  of  Cambre- 
mont  wood,  they  had  met  a  charcoal-burner,  who  had  seen 
Yeoland  and  her  follower  pass  towards  the  west.  They 
had  hunted  fast  over  fell  and  moor.  While  not  two  miles 
behind  came  Duessa  of  the  Black  Hair,  biting  her  lips  and 
giving  her  brute  lash  and  spur  with  a  woman's  viciousness. 


114  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

Yeoland,  halting  on  a  slope  above  the  pine  woods, 
looked  back  and  saw  something  that  made  her  crane  her 
neck  and  wax  vigilant.  Out  of  the  wine-red  east  and  the 
twilight  gloom  came  the  lightning  of  harness,  the  galloping 
gleam  of  armed  men.  Jaspar's  blear  eyes  were  unequal  to 
the  girl's.  The  men  below  were  riding  hard,  half  under 
the  lea  of  the  midnight  pines,  whose  tops  touched  the  sun- 
set. A  half-moon  of  steel,  their  crescent  closed  wood  and 
moor.  They  had  the  lead  in  the  west ;  they  were  mount- 
ing the  slope  behind. 

Jaspar  saw  them  at  last.  He  was  for  galloping.  Yeo- 
land held  him  in. 

"  Fool,  we  are  caught.  Sit  still.  We  shall  gain  nothing 
by  bolting." 

A  knight  was  coming  up  the  slope  at  a  canter. 
Yeoland  saw  his  shield,  read  it  and  his  name.  She 
went  red  under  her  hood,  felt  her  heart  beating,  wondered 
at  its  noise. 

Youth,  aglitter  in  arms,  splendid,  triumphant !  A  face 
bare  to  the  west,  eyes  radiant  and  tender,  a  great  horse 
reined  in  on  its  haunches,  a  mailed  hand  that  made  the  sign 
of  the  cross ! 

"  Madame,  your  pardon." 

He  drew  Balthasar's  picture  from  his  bosom  and  held  it 
before  her  eyes. 

"  My  torch,"  he  said,  "  that  led  me  to  see  your  face 
again." 

The  girl  was  silent.  Her  head  was  thrown  back,  her 
slim  throat  showing,  her  face  turned  heavenwards  like  the 
face  of  a  woman  who  is  kissed  upon  the  lips. 

"  You  have  seen  your  home  ?  " 

"  Yes,  messire." 

"  God  pardon  me  your  sorrow.  You  see  I  am  no 
hypocrite.  I  keep  my  vows." 

"Yes,  messire." 

"  Madame,  let  me  be  forgiven ;  you  have  trusted  one 
man,  trust  another." 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

She  turned  her  horse  suddenly  and  began  to  ride  towards 
the  black  maw  of  the  forest.  Her  lips  were  tightly  closed, 
and  she  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left.  Flavian, 
a  tower  of  steel,  was  at  her  side.  Armed  men  ranged  in  a 
circle  about  them.  They  opened  ranks  at  a  sign  from 
their  lord,  and  gave  the  woman  passage. 

"Madame " 

"  Messire " 

"  Am  I  to  be  forgiven  ?  " 

She  was  mute  a  moment,  as  in  thought.  Then  she  spoke 
quietly  enough. 

"  Yes,  for  a  vow." 

«  Tell  it  me." 

"  If  you  will  never  see  my  face  again." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  great  smile,  drew  his  sword, 
and  held  the  point  towards  her. 

"  Then  give  me  hate." 

"  Messire !  " 

"  Hate,  not  forgiveness,  hate,  utter  and  divine,  that  I 
may  fight  and  travail,  labour  and  despair." 

"  Messire !  " 

"  Hate  me,  hate  me,  with  all  the  unreason  of  your 
heart.  Hate  me  a  hundred  times,  that  I  may  but  leap 
a  hundred  times  into  your  life.  Bar  me  out  that  I  may 
storm  your  battlements  again  and  again." 

"  Are  you  a  fool  ?  " 

"  A  glorious,  mad,  inspired  fool." 

They  were  quite  near  the  trees.  Their  black  masses 
threw  a  great  shadow  over  the  pair.  Higher  still  the  sky 
burnt. 

"  Madame,  whither  do  you  go  ?  " 

"  Where  you  may  not  venture,  messire." 

"  God,  I  know  no  such  region." 

She  flashed  round  on  him  with  sudden  bitterness. 

"  Go  back  to  your  wife.  Go  back  to  your  wife, 
messire ;  remember  her  honour." 

It  was  a  home-thrust,  but  it  did  not  shame  or  weaken 


Il6  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

him.  He  sheathed  his  sword,  and  looked  at  her  sadly 
out  of  his  grey  eyes. 

"  What  a  world  is  this,"  he  said,  "  when  heaven  comes 
at  last,  hell  yawns  across  the  path.  When  summer 
burns,  winter  lifts  its  head.  Even  as  a  man  would  grow 
strong  and  pure,  his  own  cursed  shackles  cumber  him. 
To-night  I  say  no  more  to  you.  Go,  madame,  pray  for 
me.  You  shall  see  my  face  again." 

He  let  life  vanish  under  the  pines,  and  rode  back  with 
the  sunset  on  his  armour,  his  face  staring  into  the  rising 
night.  His  men  came  round  him,  silent  statues  of  steel. 
He  rode  slowly,  and  met  his  wife. 

Her  eyes  were  turbulent,  her  lips  red  streaks  of  scorn. 

"  Ha,  sire,  I  have  found  you." 

"  Madame,  I  trust  you  are  well  ?  " 

They  looked  at  each  other  askance  like  angry  dogs, 
as  they  rode  side  by  side,  and  the  night  came  down. 
The  men  left  them  to  themselves,  and  went  on  ahead. 
A  wind  grew  gusty  over  the  moor. 

"  Messire,  I  have  borne  enough  from  you." 

"  Madame,  is  it  fault  of  mine  ?  " 

His  whole  soul  revolted  from  her  with  an  immensity 
of  hate.  She  cumbered,  clogged,  crushed  him.  Mad 
brutality  leapt  in  his  heart  towards  her.  He  could  have 
smitten  the  woman  through  with  his  sword. 

"  Five  years  ago "  she  said. 

"  You  did  the  wooing.  Damnation,  we  have  been 
marvellously  happy." 

She  bit  her  lip  and  was  white  as  the  moon. 

"  Have  a  care,  messire,  have  a  care." 

"  Threats,  threats." 

11  Have  a  care " 

"  Look  at  my  shield.  Have  I  quartered  your  arms 
with  mine  ?  God's  blood,  there  is  nothing  to  erase." 

"  Ha  !  " 

"We  have  no  children." 

"  Go  on." 


"THEY  LOOKED  AT  EACH   OTHER  ASKANCE  LIKE  ANGRY  DOGS." 


LOVE  AMONG  THE  RUINS  llj 

"  I  shall  send  gold  and  an  embassage  to  the  Pope." 

She  clenched  her  hands  and  could  not  speak  for  the 
moment. 

"  You  dare  do  this  ?  " 

"  I  dare  ten  thousand  greater  things  than  this." 

"  By  God,  messire." 

"  By  God,  woman,  am  I  going  down  to  hell  because 
you  are  my  wife  !  " 

She  grew  quiet  very  suddenly,  a  dangerous  move  in  a 
woman. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  "  try  it,  dear  lord.  I  am  no  fool. 
Try  it,  I  am  as  strong  as  you." 

And  so  they  rode  on  towards  Avalon  together. 


XVI 

IT  is  impossible  for  two  persons  of  marked  individuality  to 
be  much  together  without  becoming  more  or  less  faceted 
one  towards  the  other.  We  appeal  by  sympathy,  and  in- 
spire by  contrast.  What  greater  glory  falls  to  a  man's  lot 
than  to  be  chastened  by  the  warm  May  of  some  girl's  pure 
heart !  Yeoland  had  felt  the  force  of  Fulviac's  manhood ; 
the  more  eternal  and  holier  instincts  were  being  stirred  in 
him  by  a  woman's  face. 

The  man's  life  had  been  a  transmigration.  In  his 
younger  days  the  world  had  banqueted  him ;  new  poig- 
nancies had  bubbled  against  his  lips  in  the  cup  of  pleasure. 
Later  had  come  that  inevitable  weariness,  that  distaste  of 
pomp,  the  mood  that  discovers  vanity  in  all  things.  Finally 
he  had  set  his  heart  upon  a  woman,  a  broken  reed  indeed, 
and  had  discovered  her  a  hypocrite,  according  to  the  meas- 
ure of  her  passions.  There  had  been  one  brief  burst  of  blas- 
phemy. He  had  used  his  dagger  and  had  disappeared.  There 
had  been  much  stir  at  the  time.  A  ruby  had  fallen  from 
the  King's  crown.  Some  spoke  of  Palestine,  others  of  a 
monastery,  others  of  a  cubit  of  keen  steel. 

Fulviac  had  begun  life  over  again.  He  had  fallen  back 
upon  elemental  interests  —  had  gone  hungry,  fought  for 
his  supper,  slept  many  a  storm  out  under  a  tree.  The 
breath  of  the  wilderness  had  winnowed  out  luxury ;  rain 
had  scourged  him  into  philosophic  hardihood.  He  had 
learnt  in  measure  that  nothing  pleases  and  endures  like 
simplicity.  Even  his  ambition  was  simple  in  its  audacious 
grandeur. 

Now  the  eyes  of  the  daughter  of  Rual  were  like  the  eyes 
of  a  Madonna,  and  she  stood  in  a  circle  of  white  lilies  like 
the  spirit  of  purity.  Fulviac  had  begun  to  believe  in  her  a 

118 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  ll<) 

little,  to  love  her  a  little.  She  stood  above  all  other  women 
he  had  known.  The  ladies  of  the  court  were  superb  and 
comely,  and  marvellously  kind,  but  they  loved  colour  and 
contemned  the  robe  of  white.  They  were  like  a  rich  posy 
for  a  man  to  choose  from,  scarlet  and  gold,  azure,  damask 
or  purple.  You  could  love  their  bodies,  but  you  could  not 
trust  their  souls. 

As  for  the  girl  Yeoland,  she  was  very  devout,  very  en- 
thusiastic, but  no  Agnes.  Her  rosary  had  little  rest,  and 
with  the  suspicions  of  one  not  utterly  sure  of  herself,  she 
had  striven  to  make  religion  and  its  results  satisfy  her  soul. 
In  some  measure  she  had  succeeded.  Yet  there  is  ever 
that  psychic  echo,  that  one  mysterious  being,  subtle  as  the 
stars,  that  may  come  before  Christ  in  the  heart.  Trans- 
cendent spirit  of  idolatry  !  And  yet  it  is  often  heaven- 
sent, seeing  that  it  leads  many  a  soul  to  God. 

It  had  become  Yeoland's  custom  to  walk  daily  in  the 
pine  wood  at  the  foot  of  the  stairway  leading  from  the 
northern  room.  She  had  discovered  a  quaint  nook,  a  mile 
or  more  from  the  cliff,  a  nook  where  trees  stood  gathered 
in  a  dense  circle  about  a  grassy  mound  capped  by  a  square 
of  mouldering  stone.  It  was  a  grave,  nameless  and  with- 
out legend.  Perhaps  a  hermit  had  crumbled  away  there 
under  the  sods,  or  the  bones  of  some  old  warrior  slept 
within  rusty  harness.  None  knew,  none  cared  greatly. 
Fulviac's  men  had  hinted  at  treasure,  yet  even  they  were 
kept  from  desecrating  the  place  by  a  crude  and  superstitious 
veneration  for  the  dead. 

She  had  wandered  here  one  day  and  had  settled  herself 
on  the  grassy  slope  of  the  grave.  The  ribbon  of  her  lute 
lay  over  her  shoulder.  A  breeze  sang  fitfully  through  the 
branches,  and  a  golden  haze  shimmered  down  as  from 
the  clerestory  windows  of  a  cathedral.  Her  lute  seemed 
sad  when  it  made  answer  to  her  fingers.  Thought  was 
plaintive  and  not  devotional,  if  one  might  judge  by  the 
mood  of  the  music,  and  the  notes  were  wayward  and 
pathetically  void  of  discipline. 


120  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

It  was  while  the  girl  thrummed  idly  at  the  strings  that 
a  vague  sound  floated  down  to  her  with  the  momentary 
emphasis  born  of  a  fickle  wind.  It  was  foreign  to  the 
forest,  or  it  would  not  have  roused  her  as  it  did.  As  she 
listened  the  sound  came  again  from  the  west.  It  was 
neither  the  distant  bay  of  a  hound  nor  a  horn's  solitary 
note.  There  was  something  metallic  about  it,  something 
musical.  When  it  disappeared,  she  listened  for  its  recur- 
rence ;  when  she  heard  it  again,  she  puzzled  over  its  nature. 

The  sound  grew  clearer  at  gradual  intervals,  and  then 
ceased  utterly.  The  girl  listened  for  a  long  while  to  no 
purpose,  and  then  prepared  to  forget  the  incident.  The 
decision  was  premature.  She  was  startled  anon  by  the 
sound  breaking  out  at  no  great  distance.  There  was  no 
doubt  as  to  its  nature  :  it  was  the  clanging  of  a  bell. 

Yeoland  wondered  who  could  be  carrying  such  a  thing 
in  such  a  place.  Possibly  some  of  Fulviac's  men  were 
coming  home  with  stolen  cattle,  and  an  old  bell-wether 
from  some  wild  moorland  with  them. 

The  sound  of  the  bell  came  very  near;  it  seemed 
close  amid  the  circling  ranks  of  pines.  Twigs  were 
cracking  too,  and  she  heard  the  beat  of  approaching 
footsteps.  Then  her  glance  caught  something  visible,  a 
streak  of  white  in  the  shadows,  moving  like  a  ghost. 
The  thing  went  amid  the  trees  with  the  bell  mute.  The 
girl's  doubts  were  soon  set  at  rest  as  to  whether  she  had 
been  seen  or  no.  The  figure  in  grey  slipped  between 
the  pines,  and  came  out  into  the  grass  circle  about  the 
grave,  cowled,  masked,  bell  at  girdle,  a  leper. 

The  girl  stared  at  it  with  a  cold  flutter  at  her  heart. 
The  thing  stood  under  the  boughs  motionless  as  stone. 
The  bell  gave  never  a  tinkle;  a  white  chin  poked 
forward  from  under  the  hood ;  the  masked  face  was  in 
shadow.  Then  the  bell  jangled,  and  a  gruff  voice  came 
from  the  cowl. 

"  Unclean,  unclean  !  "  it  said ;  "  avoid  the  white  death, 
and  give  alms." 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  121 

Yeoland  obeyed  readily  enough,  put  a  portion  of  the 
grave  betwixt  herself  and  the  leper,  fumbled  in  her  pouch 
and  threw  the  man  a  piece  of  silver.  He  came  forward 
suddenly  into  the  light,  fell  on  his  knees,  put  his  hood 
back,  plucked  off  the  mask. 

It  was  the  face  of  the  Lord  Flavian  of  Gambrevault. 

The  girl  stood  and  stared  at  him  with  unstinted 
astonishment. 

"  You,"  she  said,  "  you  ?  " 

"  Madame,  I  said  that  you  should  see  my  face  again." 

She  conceived  a  sudden  impetuous  desire  to  turn  and 
leave  him  on  his  knees,  but  some  inner  potency  of 
instinct  restrained  her.  She  looked  down  at  the  man, 
with  no  kindling  kindness  upon  her  face.  She  did  not 
know  what  to  say  to  him,  how  to  tune  her  mood.  The 
first  thought  that  rushed  into  her  mind  was  seized  upon 
and  pressed  into  service,  discretion  or  no  discretion. 

"  Madman,  they  will  kill  you  if  they  find  you  here." 

"  No  woman  ever  loved  a  coward." 

u  For  Heaven's  sake,  go  away." 

He  rose  from  his  knees  and  lifted  up  his  frock.  The 
girl  saw  harness  and  a  sword  beneath  it.  This  young 
leopard  of  the  southern  shores  had  fettle  enough,  and 
spirit.  He  was  a  mixture  of  imperturbable  determination 
and  sanguine  Quixotism,  as  he  faced  her  under  the  trees. 

"  This  dress  is  privileged ;  my  bell  warns  folk  away ; 
who  would  fall  foul  of  a  miserable  leper  ?  If  this  frock 
fails  me,  I  have  my  sword." 

She  looked  at  him  with  the  solemnity  of  a  child,  hand 
folded  in  hand. 

"  I  cannot  understand  you,"  she  said. 

"  Not  yet." 

"  Are  you  the  man  whose  life  I  saved  ?  That  breath  of 
death  on  your  brow,  messire,  should  have  made  you  thought- 
ful of  your  soul." 

"  Let  me  plead  a  moment." 

"  For  what  ? " 


122  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

"  My  honour." 

"  Why  your  honour  ?  " 

"  Because  I  want  you  to  believe  that  I  have  a  soul." 

He  was  vastly  earnest,  and  his  eyes  followed  her,  as 
though  she  were  some  being  out  of  heaven.  She  had  never 
seen  such  a  look  in  a  man's  eyes  before;  it  troubled  her. 
She  questioned  her  own  heart,  laughed  emptily,  and  gave  in 
to  him. 

"  We  are  both  mad,"  she  said,  "  but  go  on.  I  will 
listen  for  one  minute.  Keep  watch  lest  any  one  should 
come  upon  us  suddenly." 

She  sat  down  on  the  grass  bank,  while  he  stood  before 
her,  holding  his  lazar  bell  by  the  clapper. 

"  Look  at  this  dress,"  he  said. 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"  It  is  how  I  feel  in  soul  when  I  look  at  you." 

She  frowned  visibly. 

"  If  you  wax  personal,  messire,  I  shall  leave  you." 

"  No,  no,  I  will  keep  to  my  own  carcase,  and  play  the 
egotist.  Well,  I  will  be  brief.  Look  at  me,  I  am  the  first 
lord  in  the  south,  master  of  an  army,  one  of  the  twelve 
knights  of  the  Order  of  the  Rose." 

"Go  on." 

"  When  I  was  twenty  years  old,  certain  clever  people 
found  me  a  wife,  a  woman  five  years  my  senior  in  time, 
twenty  years  my  superior  in  knowledge  of  the  world. 
Well,  six  months  had  not  passed  before  I  hated  her,  hated 
her  with  my  whole  soul.  My  God,  what  a  thing  for  a 
boy  to  begin  life  with  a  woman  who  made  him  half  the 
bounden  vassal  of  the  devil !  " 

u  You  seem  generous.  The  faults  were  all  on  her 
side." 

"  Madame,  I  say  nothing  against  the  woman,  only  that 
she  had  no  soul.  We  were  incompatible  as  day  and  night, 
fire  and  water.  The  thing  crushed  the  youth  out  of  me, 
made  me  desperate,  and  worse,  made  me  old  beyond  my 
years.  I  have  done  my  best.  I  have  groped  along  like  a 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  123 

man  in  the  dark,  knowing  nothing,  understanding  nothing, 
save  that  I  had  a  warm  heart  in  me,  and  that  life  seemed 
one  grim  jest.  The  future  had  no  fire  for  me ;  I  drank 
the  wine  of  the  present,  strove  to  please  my  senses,  plunged 
into  the  abysses  of  the  world.  Sometimes  I  tried  to  pray. 
Sometimes  I  played  the  cynic.  The  eternal  beacon  of  love 
had  gone  out  of  my  life.  I  had  no  sun,  no  inspiration  for 
my  soul." 

She  sprang  up  suddenly,  breathing  fast  like  one  who  is 
near  tears. 

"  Why  do  you  speak  to  me  of  this  ?  " 

"God  knows." 

His  voice  was  utterly  lonely. 

"  What  am  I  to  you  ?  You  have  hardly  seen  me  three 
hours  in  your  life.  Why  do  you  speak  to  me  of  this  ?  " 

He  put  a  hand  to  his  throat,  and  did  not  look  at  her. 

"  Madame,  there  are  people  who  come  near  our  hearts  in 
one  short  hour,  people  who  are  winter  to  us  to  eternity. 
Do  not  ask  me  to  explain  this  truth  ;  as  Christ's  death, 
I  know  it  to  be  true.  I  trust  you.  All  the  logicians  of 
the  world  could  not  tell  me  why.  I  do  not  know  that  I 
could  bring  forward  one  single  reason  out  of  my  own 
soul,  save  that  you  showed  me  great  mercy  once.  And 
now  —  and  now " 

He  broke  down  suddenly,  and  could  not  speak.  Yeoland 
appealed  to  him  out  of  the  quickness  of  her  fear. 

"  Messire,  messire,  your  promise." 

"  Let  me  speak,  or  I  stifle." 

"  Go,  for  God's  sake,  go  !  " 

He  flung  his  hands  towards  her  with  a  great  outburst  of 
passion. 

"  Heaven  and  God's  throne,  you  shall  hear  me  to  the 
end.  Woman,  woman,  my  soul  flows  to  you  as  the  sea 
ebbs  to  the  moon ;  deep  in  the  sky  a  new  sun  burns ; 
the  stars  are  dust,  dust  blown  from  the  coffins  of  the 
dead  who  loved.  Life  leaps  in  me  like  another  chaos. 
All  my  heart  glows  like  an  autumn  orchard,  and  I  burn. 


124  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

The  world  is  red  with  a  myriad  roses.  God's  in  the 
heaven,  Christ  bleeds  on  quaking  Calvary." 

She  ran  to  him  suddenly  and  seized  his  wrist. 

«  Go !  " 

"  I  cannot." 

"  Men  are  coming,  I  hear  them  in  the  woods,  they  will 
kill  you ! " 

"  I  hear  them  too." 

"  Go,  go,  for  my  sake  and  for  God's." 

He  kissed  her  sleeve,  pulled  his  cowl  down,  and  fled 
away  into  the  woods. 


XVII 

THE  Lady  Duessa  stood  in  the  chapel  of  water-girded 
Avalon,  with  Fra  Balthasar  the  Dominican  beside  her. 
She  had  slipped  in  without  his  noticing  her,  and  had 
watched  him  awhile  in  silence  at  his  work.  The  jingling 
of  her  chatelaine  had  brought  him  at  last  to  a  conscious- 
ness of  her  presence.  Now  they  stood  together  before 
the  high  altar  and  looked  at  the  Madonna  seated  on  her 
throne  of  gold,  amid  choirs  of  angel  women. 

The  Lady  Duessa's  intelligence  had  waxed  critical  on 
the  subject. 

"  You  have  altered  the  Virgin's  face,"  she  said. 

Balthasar  stared  at  his  handiwork  and  nodded. 

"  The  former  has  been  erased,  the  latter  throned  in  her 
stead." 

The  words  had  more  significance  for  the  lady  than 
the  friar  had  perhaps  intended.  A  better  woman  would 
have  snubbed  him  for  his  pains.  As  it  was,  he  saw  her 
go  red,  saw  the  tense  stare  of  her  dark  eyes,  the  tighten- 
ing of  the  muscles  of  her  jaw.  She  had  a  wondrous 
strong  jaw,  had  the  Lady  Duessa.  She  was  no  mere 
puppet,  no  bright-eyed,  fineried  piece  of  plasticity.  Fra 
Balthasar  guessed  the  hot,  passionate  power  of  her  soul ; 
she  was  the  very  woman  for  the  rough  handling  of  a 
cause,  such  as  the  Lord  Flavian  her  husband  had  roused 
against  her. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "  this  alteration  was  a  matter  of 
art,  Balthasar  ? " 

"  A  matter  of  heart,  madame." 

"  So  ? " 


126  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

"  My  Lord  Flavian  commanded  it." 

"  And  yonder  face  is  taken  from  life  ?  " 

"  Madame,  I  leave  the  inference  to  your  charity." 

She  laughed  a  deep,  cynical  laugh,  and  went  wandering 
round  the  chapel,  looking  at  the  frescoes,  and  swinging  a 
little  poniard  by  the  chain  that  linked  it  to  her  girdle. 
Balthasar  made  a  pretence  of  mixing  colours  on  his  palette. 
Worldly  rogue  that  he  was,  he  knew  women,  especially 
women  of  the  Lady  Duessa  mould.  He  had  a  most  shrewd 
notion  as  to  what  was  passing  in  her  mind.  Morally,  he 
was  her  abettor,  being  a  person  who  could  always  take 
a  woman's  part,  provided  she  were  pretty.  He  believed 
women  had  no  business  with  religion.  To  Balthasar,  like 
fine  glass,  their  frailty  was  their  most  enhancing  character- 
istic. It  gave  such  infinite  scope  to  a  discreet  confessor. 

The  Lady  Duessa  strolled  back  again,  and  stood  by  the 
altar  rails. 

"  Am  I  such  a  plain  woman  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Madame  ! " 

"  You  have  never  painted  me." 

"  There  are  people  above  the  artist's  brush." 

"  But  you  paint  the  Madonna." 

"  Madame,  the  Madonna  is  anybody's  property." 

"Am  I?" 

"  God  forbid  that  a  poet  should  speak  lightly  of  beauty." 

She  laughed  again,  and  touching  her  hair  with  her  fingers, 
scanned  herself  in  a  little  mirror  that  she  carried  at  her 
girdle. 

"Tell  me  frankly,  am  I  worth  painting  ?  " 

"  Madame,  that  purple  hair,  those  splendid  eyes,  the  superb 
colour  of  those  cheeks,  would  blaze  out  of  a  golden  back- 
ground as  out  of  heaven." 

She  gave  a  musical  little  titter. 

"  Heaven,  heaven,  ha  —  ha." 

"  I  should  be  grateful  for  so  transcendent  a  chance." 

"  And  you  would  do  me  justice  ?  " 

u  Where  inspiration  burns,  there  art  soars." 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  12? 

"  You  would  be  true  ?  " 

"  To  the  chiselling  of  a  coral  ear." 

"  And  discreet  ?  " 

"  To  the  curve  of  a  lip." 

"  And  considerate  ?  " 

"  My  hands  are  subtle." 

"  And  your  heart  ?  " 

"  Is  ingenuous  as  a  little  child's." 

She  laughed  again,  and  held  out  her  hands.  Balthasar 
kissed  the  white  fingers,  crowded  with  their  gems.  His 
eyes  were  warm  as  water  in  the  sun  ;  the  colours  and  the 
glimmering  richness  of  the  chapel  burnt  into  his  brain. 

u  You  shall  paint  me,"  she  said. 

"  Here,  madame,  here  ?  " 

u  No,  my  own  bower  is  pleasanter.  You  can  reach  it 
by  my  Lord  Flavian's  stair  in  the  turret.  Here  is  the  key ; 
he  never  uses  it  now.  Avalon  has  not  seen  him  these  six 
days." 

"  Madame,  I  will  paint  you  as  man  never  painted  woman 
before." 

Dame  Duessa's  bower  was  a  broad  chamber  on  the 
western  walls,  joining  the  south-western  tower.  A  great 
oriel,  jewelled  with  heraldic  glass,  looked  over  the  mere 
with  its  dreaming  lilies,  over  the  green  meadows  to  the 
solemn  silence  of  the  woods. 

Calypso's  grotto !  The  bower  of  a  luxurious  lady  in 
a  luxurious  age  !  The  snuff  of  Ind  and  Araby  tingled  in 
Balthasar's  nostrils.  The  silks  of  China  and  Bagdad, 
the  cloths  of  Italy,  bloomed  there ;  flowers  crowded  the 
window,  the  couches,  every  nook.  Blood-red  hangings 
warmed  the  walls. 

The  Lady  Duessa  sat  to  Balthasar  in  the  oriel,  with 
her  lute  upon  her  bosom.  She  was  in  azure  and  violet, 
with  neck  and  bosom  showing  under  a  maze  of  gossamer 
gold.  Her  arms  were  bare  to  the  shoulder,  white,  gleam- 
ing arms,  subtle,  sinuous,  voluptuous.  Her  hair  had  been 
powdered  with  gold.  Her  lips  were  wondrous  red,  her 


128  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

eyes  dark  as  wells.  Musk  and  lavender  breathed  from  her 
samites ;  her  girdle  glowed  with  precious  stones. 

Fra  Balthasar  sat  on  a  stool  inlaid  with  mother-of-pearl 
and  ivory.  An  embroidery  frame  served  him  as  an  easel. 
The  man  was  living  under  the  many-constellationed  vault 
of  beauty.  All  the  scent  and  floweriness  of  the  room 
played  on  his  brain ;  all  the  wealth  of  it  pandered  to  his 
art;  all  the  woman's  splendour  made  molten  wax  of  his 
being. 

As  he  painted  she  sang  to  him,  an  old  lay  of  Arthurian 
love,  so  that  he  might  catch  the  music  in  her  eyes,  and 
watch  the  deep  notes  gathering  in  her  throat.  He  saw 
her  bosom  sway  beneath  her  lace,  saw  the  inimitable 
roundness  of  her  arms.  Often  his  brush  lingered.  He 
might  gaze  upon  the  woman  as  he  would,  drink  her 
beauty  like  so  much  violet  wine,  open  his  soul  to  the 
opulent  summer  of  her  power.  His  heart  was  in  a  sun- 
set mood ;  he  lived  the  life  of  a  poet. 

"And  the  green  spring  grew  subtle,"  sang  the  dame, 
<f  With  song  of  birds  and  laughter,  and  the  woods 
Were  white  for  maying.      So  fair  Guinivere 
Loosed  her  long  hair  like  rivulets  of  gold 
That  stream  from  the  broad  casement  of  the  dawn. 
And  her  sweet  mouth  was  like  one  lovely  rose, 
And  her  white  bosom  like  a  bowl  of  flowers  ; 
So  wandered  she  with  Launcelot,  while  the  wind 
Blew  her  long  tresses  to  him,  and  her  eyes 
Were  as  the  tender  azure  of  the  night." 

Of  such  things  sang  Duessa,  while  the  friar  spread  his 
colours. 

And  then  she  questioned  him. 

"  Love  you  the  old  legends,  Balthasar  ?  " 

"  Madame,  as  I  love  life." 

"  Ah  !  they  could  love  in  those  old  days." 

"  Madame,  men  can  love  even  now." 

She  put  her  lute  aside,  and  knelt  upon  the  couch  before 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  1 29 

the  window,  with  her  elbows  on  the  cushioned  sill.  Her 
silks  swept  close  upon  her  shapely  back,  her  shoulders 
gleamed  under  her  purple  hair.  In  the  west  the  world 
grew  red ;  the  crimson  kisses  of  the  sunset  poured  upon 
the  ecstasied  green  woods.  The  mere  was  flaked  with  a 
myriad  amber  scales.  The  meadows  broidered  their  broad 
laps  with  cowslips,  as  with  dust  of  gold. 

"  Balthasar." 

"  Madame  ? " 

"  Look  yonder  at  the  sunset.  You  must  be  tired  of 
gazing  on  my  face." 

He  rose  up  like  one  dazed  —  intoxicated  by  colours, 
sounds,  and  odours.  Duessa's  hand  beckoned  him.  He 
went  and  knelt  on  the  couch  at  her  side,  and  looked  out 
over  the  flaming  woods. 

"  And  the  other  woman  ? "  she  said. 

"  The  other  woman  ?  " 

"  This  Madonna  of  my  lord's  chapel." 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"  She  amuses  me  j  I  am  not  jealous ;  what  is  jealousy 
to  me  ?  Tell  me  about  her,  Balthasar ;  no  doubt  it  is  a 
pretty  tale,  and  you  know  the  whole." 

"  I,  madame  ?  " 

«  I,  Duessa." 

a  But " 

"  You  are  my  Lord  Flavian's  friend ;  he  was  ever  a  man 
to  be  garrulous :  he  has  been  garrulous  to  you.  Tell  me 
the  whole  tale." 

"  Duessa ! " 

"  Better,  better,  my  friend." 

She  put  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  and  stared  straight 
into  his  eyes.  Her  lips  overhung  his  like  ripe  red  fruit. 
Her  arms  were  fragrant  of  myrrh  and  violet ;  her  bosom 
was  white  as  snow  under  the  moon. 

"  Can  you  refuse  me  this  ?  " 

"  God,  madame,  I  can  refuse  you  nothing." 


XVIII 

THE  girl  Yeoland  saw  nothing  of  the  leper  for  a  season. 
For  several  days  she  did  not  venture  far  into  the  pine 
forest,  and  the  nameless  grave  heard  not  the  sound  of  her 
lute.  The  third  night  after  the  incident,  as  she  lay  in 
her  room  under  her  canopy  of  purple  cloth,  she  heard 
distinctly  the  silver  clangour  of  a  bell  floating  up  through 
the  midnight  silence.  She  lay  as  still  as  a  mouse,  and 
scarcely  drew  breath,  for  fear  the  man  in  grey  should 
venture  up  the  stairway.  The  casement  was  open,  with 
a  soft  June  air  blowing  in  like  peace.  The  bell  con- 
tinued to  tinkle,  but  less  noisily,  till  it  vanished  into 
silence. 

Other  folk  from  the  cliff  had  seen  the  leper,  and 
Yeoland  could  not  claim  to  have  monopolised  the  gentle- 
man. One  of  Fulviac's  fellows  had  seen  him  one  morn- 
ing near  the  cliff,  gliding  like  a  grey  ghost  among  the 
pines.  Another  had  marked  him  creeping  swiftly  away 
through  the  twilight.  It  was  a  superstitious  age  and 
a  superstitious  region.  The  figure  in  grey  seemed  to 
haunt  the  place,  with  the  occasional  and  mournful  sound- 
ing of  its  bell.  Men  began  to  gossip,  as  the  ignorant 
always  will.  Fulviac  himself  grew  uneasy  for  more 
material  reasons,  and  contemplated  the  test  of  a  clothyard 
shaft  or  a  bolt  upon  the  leper's  body.  The  man  might 
be  a  spy,  and  if  the  bolt  missed  its  mark  it  would 
at  least  serve  as  a  sinister  hint  to  this  troublesome 
apparition. 

It  was  then  that  Yeoland  took  alarm  into  her  woman's 
heart.  There  was  great  likelihood  of  the  man  ending  his 

130 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  l$l 

days  under  the  tree  with  a  shaft  sticking  fast  between  his 
shoulders.  Though  he  was  something  of  a  madman,  she 
did  not  relish  such  a  prospect.  The  day  after  she  had 
heard  the  bell  at  midnight  near  the  stair  she  haunted  the 
forest  like  a  pixie,  keeping  constant  watch  between  the 
cliff  and  the  forest  grave.  Fulviac  had  ridden  out  on  a 
plundering  venture,  and  she  was  free  of  him  for  the  day. 

It  was  not  till  evening  that  she  heard  the  faint  signal  of 
the  bell,  creeping  down  through  the  gold-webbed  boughs 
like  the  sound  of  a  distant  angelus.  The  sound  flew  from 
the  north,  and  beckoned  her  towards  the  forest  grave. 
Fearful  of  being  caught,  she  followed  it  as  fast  as  her  feet 
could  carry  her,  while  the  deepening  clamour  led  her  on. 
Presently  she  called  the  man  by  name  as  she  ran.  His  grey 
frock  and  cowl  came  dimly  through  the  trees. 

"  At  last  you  are  merciful,"  was  his  greeting. 

She  stood  still  and  twisted  her  gown  restlessly  between 
her  two  hands.  Anarchy  showed  in  her  face ;  fear,  reason, 
and  desire  were  calling  to  her  heart.  The  intangible  touch 
of  the  man's  soul  threw  her  being  into  chaos.  She  feared 
greatly  for  him,  stood  still,  and  could  say  nothing.  Flavian 
put  his  cowl  back,  and  stood  aloof  from  her,  looking  in  her 
face. 

"  Seemingly  we  are  both  embarrassed,"  he  said. 

She  made  a  petulant  little  gesture.  He  forestalled  her  in 
speech. 

"  It  is  best  to  be  frank  when  life  runs  deep.  I  will 
speak  the  truth  to  you,  and  you  may  treat  me  as  you  will." 

Yeoland  leant  against  a  tree,  and  began  to  pull  away  the 
brittle  scales  of  the  bark. 

"If  you  stay  here  longer,  messire "  she  began. 

"  Well,  madame,  what  then  ?  " 

"  You  will  be  shot  like  a  dog ;  you  are  suspected ;  they 
are  going  to  try  your  leper's  gown  with  a  crossbow  bolt." 

The  man  smiled  optimistically. 

u  And  you  came  to  tell  me  this  ?  " 

"Yes." 


132  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

"  I  thank  you." 

The  wind  moved  through  the  trees ;  a  fir-cone  came 
pattering  through  the  branches  and  fell  at  their  feet.  On 
the  cliff  a  horn  blared  ;  its  throaty  cry  came  echoing  faintly 
through  the  trees. 

Flavian  looked  towards  the  gold  of  the  west.  His  mood 
was  calm  and  deliberate ;  he  had  his  enthusiasms  in  leash 
for  the  moment,  for  there  were  more  mundane  matters  in 
his  mind  —  matters  that  were  not  savoury,  however  crim- 
son shone  the  ideal  years. 

"  I  have  thrown  down  the  glove,"  he  said,  "  for  good  or 
evil,  honour  or  dishonour.  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  truth." 

Yeoland,  watching  his  face,  felt  her  impatient  dreads 
goad  her  to  the  quick. 

"  Will  you  talk  for  ever  ?  "  she  said  to  him. 

"  Take  the  core  then.  I  am  going  to  rend  my  bonds  as 
I  would  rend  flax.  I  have  appealed  to  the  Church ;  I  have 
poured  out  gold." 

"  To  the  point,  messire." 

"  I  shall  divorce  my  wife." 

He  threw  his  head  back,  and  challenged  the  world  in 
her  one  person.  Her  good  favour  was  more  to  him  than 
the  patronage  of  Pope  or  King.  It  was  in  his  mind  that 
she  should  believe  the  worst  of  him  from  the  beginning,  so 
that  in  some  later  season  he  might  not  emulate  Lucifer, 
toppled  out  of  the  heaven  of  her  heart.  She  should  have 
the  truth  from  the  first,  and  build  her  opinion  of  him  on  no 
fanciful  basis.  Even  in  this  justice  to  the  more  sinister 
side  of  his  surroundings,  he  was  an  idealist,  thorough  and 
enthusiastic. 

"  So  you  must  understand,  madame,  that  I  am  not  with- 
out blemishes,  not  without  things  that  I  myself  would 
rather  see  otherwise.  With  me  it  is  a  question  of  going  to 
hell  for  a  woman,  or  getting  rid  of  her.  Being  an  egotist, 
I  choose  the  latter  alternative." 

Yeoland  still  evaded  his  eyes. 

"  And  the  woman  loves  you  ?  " 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  133 

"  Not  an  atom ;  she  only  cares  to  be  called  the  Lady  of 
Gambrevault,  Signoress  of  Avalon,  the  first  dame  in  the 
south." 

"  Why  do  you  tell  me  this  ?  " 

"  Madame,  have  I  need  of  more  words  ?  It  is  for  this  : 
that  you  might  not  picture  me  as  I  am  not,  or  form  any 
false  conception  of  me.  I  have  bared  my  moral  skeleton 
to  you.  Perhaps  you  will  never  know  what  it  costs  a  man 
at  times  to  make  his  mind  as  glass  to  the  woman  he  hon- 
ours above  the  whole  world." 

«  Well  ?  " 

"  It  is  because  I  honour  you  that  I  have  goaded  myself 
to  tell  you  the  whole  truth." 

Her  verdict  was  more  sudden  and  more  human  than  he 
might  have  expected. 

"  Messire,  you  are  a  brave  man,"  she  said  j  <l  I  believe  I 
am  beginning  to  trust  you." 

The  sky  flamed  into  sunset ;  the  tracery  of  the  trees 
seemed  webbed  with  gold  into  shimmering  domes  and  fans  of 
quivering  light.  In  the  distance,  the  great  cliff  stood  out 
darkly  from  the  scarlet  caverns  of  the  west.  The  pine  tops 
rose  like  the  black  spires  of  some  vast  city.  Above,  floated 
clouds,  effulgent  mounts  of  fire,  hurled  from  the  abysmal 
furnace  of  the  sun. 

Flavian  came  two  steps  nearer  to  the  woman,  leaning 
against  the  tree. 

"  Give  me  my  due,"  he  said  ;  "  I  have  uncovered  the 
difficult  workings  of  my  heart,  I  have  shown  you  the  inner 
man  in  his  meaner  mould.  Suffer  me  to  speak  of  my  man- 
hood in  godlier  words.  I  have  shown  you  Winter  j  let  me 
utter  forth  Spring." 

Yeoland  turned  and  faced  him  at  last. 

"You  have  risked  your  life  and  my  honour  long  enough," 
she  said,  u  I  am  going  back  to  the  cliff." 

"  And  I  with  you,  as  far  as  the  stairway." 

"  To  the  threshold  of  death." 

"  What  care  I  if  I  tread  it  at  your  side  ?  " 


134  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

She  turned  homewards  with  obstinate  intent,  and  the 
mild  hauteur  of  a  good  woman.  The  man  followed  her, 
went  with  her  step  for  step,  looking  in  her  face. 

"  Hear  my  confession,"  he  said  ;  "  you  shall  have  it  be- 
fore you  leave  me.  For  the  sake  of  your  honour,  I  hold 
my  soul  by  the  collar.  But  —  but,  I  shall  win  liberty, 
liberty.  When  I  am  free,  ah,  girl,  girl,  I  shall  flash  golden 
wings  in  the  face  of  the  sun.  I  shall  soar  to  you  that  I 
may  look  into  your  eyes,  that  I  may  touch  your  hands,  and 
breathe  the  warm  summer  of  your  soul.  I  want  God,  I 
want  purity,  I  want  the  Eternal  peace,  I  want  your  heart. 
I  have  said  the  whole ;  think  of  me  what  you  will." 

Twilight  had  gathered  ;  all  the  violet  calmness  of  the  night 
came  down  upon  the  world.  Under  the  shadows  of  the  tall 
trees,  the  girl  was  deeply  stirred  beyond  her  own  compassion. 
She  halted,  hesitated,  went  suddenly  near  the  man  with  her 
face  turned  heavenwards  like  a  new-spread  flower.  Her 
eyes  were  very  wistful,  and  she  spoke  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"  You  have  told  me  the  whole  truth,  you  have  shown 
me  your  whole  soul  ?  " 

"  As  I  serve  you,  madame,  I  have  kept  nothing  back." 

11  Ah,  messire,  I  will  speak  to  you  the  truth  in  turn. 
God  be  merciful  to  me,  but  you  have  come  strangely 
near  my  heart.  These  are  bitter  words  for  my  soul. 
Ah,  messire,  if  you  have  any  honour  for  me,  trust  me 
that  I  aspire  to  heaven.  I  cannot  suffer  you  to  come 
deeper  into  my  life." 

The  man  held  out  his  hands. 

«  Why,  why  ? " 

"  Because  in  following  me,  you  go  innocently  to  your 
death." 

He  lifted  up  his  arms,  and  leapt  into  heroics  like  an 
Apollo  leaping  into  a  blood-red  sky. 

"  What  care  I ;  you  speak  in  riddles  ;  can  I  fear  death  ?  " 

u  Messire,  messire,  it  is  the  woman  who  fears.  I  tell 
you  this,  because,  because  —  God  help  me " 

She  fled  away,  but  that  night  he  did  not  follow  her. 


XIX 

As  a  wind  sweeps  clamorous  into  a  wood,  so  Modred 
and  his  fellows,  household  knights,  streamed  into  the  great 
hall  of  Avalon,  where  the  Lord  Flavian  sat  at  supper. 
Bearers  of  angry  steel,  fulminators  of  vengeance,  vocifer- 
ous, strong,  they  poured  in  through  the  screens  like  a 
mill  race,  bearing  a  tossed  and  impotent  figure  in  their 
midst.  Their  swords  yelped  and  flashed  over  this  bruised 
fragment  of  humanity. 

A  gauntlet  of  steel  was  dashed  often  into  the  white  face. 
Hands  clawed  his  collar,  clutched  his  body.  Dragged, 
jerked  onwards,  buffeted,  beaten  to  his  knees,  he  sank 
down  before  the  Lord  Flavian's  chair,  blood  streaming 
from  his  mouth  and  nostrils,  specking  his  white  habit, 
drabbling  the  floor.  Then  only  did  the  flashing,  growling 
circle  recede  like  waves  from  a  fallen  rock. 

Modred,  a  black  man,  burly,  a  bigot  to  honour,  stood 
out  a  giant  before  his  fellows.  His  great  sword  quivered 
to  the  roof;  his  deep  voice  shook  the  rafters. 

"  Blood,  sire,  blood." 

The  man  in  the  white  habit  quailed,  and  held  up  his 
hands. 

"  Let  me  smite  him  as  he  kneels." 

"  Sirs,  give  me  the  courtesy  of  silence." 

Flavian  started  from  his  chair  and  looked  at  the  man, 
who  knelt,  huddled  into  himself,  at  his  feet.  It  was  a 
scene  replete  with  the  grim  cynicism  of  life.  Here  was 
a  man  of  mind  and  genius,  cowering,  quivering  before 
the  strong  wrath  of  a  dozen  muscular  illiterates.  Here 
was  the  promulgator  of  bold  truths,  an  utter  dastard  when 


136  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

the  physical  part  of  him  was  threatened  with  dissolution. 
Not  that  this  event  was  any  proof  against  the  moral  power 
of  pagan  self-reliance.  Not  that  there  was  any  cause  for 
the  bleating  of  sanctimonious  platitudes,  or  the  pointing 
of  a  proverb.  A  true  churchman  might  have  carved  a 
fine  moral  fable  out  of  the  reality.  It  would  have  been 
a  fallacy.  Fra  Balthasar  was  a  coward.  He  had  none  of 
the  splendid  mental  anatomy  of  a  Socrates.  He  would 
have  played  the  coward  even  under  the  eye  of  Christ. 

Silence  had  fallen.  Far  away,  choked  by  the  long  throats 
of  gallery  and  stair,  rose  the  wild,  passionate  screaming  of 
a  woman.  It  had  the  rebellious,  blasphemous  agony  of  one 
flung  into  eternal  fire.  Without  modulation,  abatement,  or 
increase,  malevolent,  impotent,  ferocious,  piteous,  it  pealed 
out  in  long,  tempestuous  bursts  that  swept  into  the  ears 
like  some  unutterable  discord  out  of  hell. 

The  kneeling  man  heard  it,  and  seemed  to  contract,  to 
shrink  into  himself.  His  white  habit  was  rent  to  the  mid- 
dle; his  ashy  face  splashed  over  with  blood.  He  tottered 
and  shook,  his  hands  clasped  over  the  nape  of  his  neck,  for 
fear  of  the  sword.  His  tongue  clave  to  his  palate  ;  his  eyes 
were  furtively  fixed  on  the  upreared  yard  of  steel. 

Torches  and  cressets  flared.  Servants  stared  and  shoul- 
dered and  gaped  in  the  screens;  all  the  castle  underlings 
seemed  to  have  smelt  out  the  business  like  the  rats  they 
were.  Modred's  knights  put  them  out  with  rough  words 
and  the  flat  of  the  sword.  The  doors  were  barred.  Only 
Flavian,  the  priest,  and  Modred  and  his  men  took  part  in 
that  tribunal  in  the  hall  of  Avalon. 

Flavian  stood  and  gazed  on  Balthasar,  the  man  of  tones 
and  colours.  The  Lord  of  Gambrevault  was  calm,  un- 
hurried, and  dispassionate,  yet  not  unpleased.  The  man's 
infinite  abasement  and  terror  seemed  to  arrest  him  like 
some  superb  precept  from  the  lips  of  a  philosopher.  He 
had  the  air  of  a  man  who  calculates,  the  look  of  a  diplomat 
whose  scheme  has  worked  out  well.  From  Balthasar  he 
looked  to  Modred  the  Strong,  the  torchlight  lurid  on  his 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  137 

armour,  his  great  sword  quivering  like  a  falcon  to  leap 
down  upon  its  prey.  The  distant  screaming,  somewhat 
fainter  and  less  resolute,  still  throbbed  in  his  ears.  He 
thought  of  Dante,  and  the  bolgias  of  that  superhuman 
singer. 

Going  close  to  the  Dominican,  he  spoke  to  him  in 
strong,  yet  not  unpitying  tones.  Balthasar  dared  not  look 
above  the  Lord  Flavian's  knees. 

"  Ha,  my  friend,  where  is  all  your  fine  philosophy  ?  " 

The  man  cringed  like  a  beggar. 

"  Where  are  all  your  sonorous  phrases,  your  pert  blas- 
phemies, your  subtleties,  your  fine  tinsel  of  intellect  and 
vanity  ?  " 

Balthasar  had  no  word. 

"  Where  is  your  godliness,  my  friend,  where  your  glow- 
ing and  superhuman  soul  ?  Have  we  found  you  out,  O 
Satanas  ;  have  we  shocked  your  pagan  heroism  ?  Be  a 
man.  Stand  up  and  face  us.  You  could  hold  forth 
roundly  on  occasions.  Even  that  Saul  of  Tarsus  was  not 
afraid  of  a  sword." 

Balthasar  cowered,  and  hid  his  face  behind  his  hands. 
He  began  to  whimper,  to  rock  to  and  fro,  to  sob.  The 
grim  men  round  him  laughed,  deep-chested,  iron,  scoffing 
laughter.  Modred  pricked  the  priest's  neck  with  the  point 
of  his  sword.  It  was  then  that  Balthasar  fell  forward  upon 
his  face,  senseless  from  sheer  terror. 

Flavian  abandoned  philosophic  irony,  and  addressed  him- 
self to  Modred  and  his  knights. 

"  Put  up  your  swords,  sirs  ;  this  man  shall  go  free." 

"  Sire,  sire  !  "  came  the  massed  cry. 

"  Trust  my  discretion.  The  fellow  has  done  me  the 
greatest  service  of  my  life." 

"  Sire !  " 

"  He  has  given  me  liberty.  He  has  gnawed  the  shackles 
from  my  soul.  You  are  all  my  witnesses  in  this,  and  may 
count  upon  my  gratitude.  But  this  man  here,  he  has 
danced  to  my  whim  like  a  doll  plucked  by  a  string.  For 


138  LOVE  AMONG    THE  JtUINS 

my  liberty  has  he  sinned ;  out  of  Avalon  shall  he  go 
scatheless." 

The  men  still  murmured.  Modred  shot  home  his  sword 
into  its  scabbard  with  a  vicious  snap.  Flavian  read  their 
humour. 

"  Do  not  imagine,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  that  your 
vigilance  and  your  loyalty  to  my  honour  can  go  unrewarded. 
Modred,  your  lands  are  heavily  mortgaged,  I  free  you  at  a 
word,  with  this  my  signet.  To  you,  Bertrand,  I  give  the 
Manor  of  Riesole  to  keep  and  hold  for  you  and  yours.  To 
all  you,  good  friends,  I  give  a  hundred  golden  angels,  man 
and  man.  And  now,  sirs,  as  to  madame,  my  wife." 

They  gathered  round  him  in  curious  conclave,  Balthasar 
lying  in  their  midst. 

"  Sir  Modred,  you  will  order  out  my  state  litter,  set  the 
Lady  Duessa  therein,  and  have  her  borne  with  all  courtesy 
to  Gilderoy,  to  her  father's  house.  Then  you  will  take 
these  gentlemen  who  are  my  true  friends  and  witnesses,  and 
you  will  ride  to  Lauretia,  to  make  solemn  declaration  before 
Bishop  Hilary.  He  has  already  received  my  earlier  embas- 
sage.  After  this  affair,  we  have  no  need  of  ethical  subtleties 
and  clerical  conveniences.  You  will  obtain  a  dispensation 
at  his  hands.  Ex  vinculo  matrimonii.  Nothing  less  than  that." 

They  bowed  to  him  and  his  commands,  like  the  loyal 
gentlemen  they  were.  Modred  pointed  to  the  prostrate 
Balthasar,  who  was  already  squirming  back  to  consciousness, 
with  his  fingers  feeling  at  his  throat,  as  though  to  discover 
whether  it  was  still  sound  or  no. 

"  And  this  fellow,  sire  ?  " 

"  Pick  him  up." 

Balthasar  had  found  his  tongue  at  last.  He  was  jerked 
to  his  feet,  and  held  up  by  force,  with  the  handle  of  a 
poniard  rammed  into  his  mouth  to  stem  his  garrulity. 

Flavian  read  him  an  extemporary  lecture.  There  was 
something  like  a  smile  hovering  about  his  lips. 

"  Go  back  to  your  missal,  man,  and  forswear  women. 
They  are  like  strong  wine,  too  much  for  your  flimsy  brain. 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  139 

I  have  more  pity  for  you  than  censure.  Say  to  yourself, 
when  you  patter  your  prayers,  <  Flavian  of  Gambrevault 
saved  me  from  the  devil  once.'  And  yet,  my  good  saint, 
I  have  a  shrewd  notion  that  you  will  be  just  as  great  a  fool 
two  months  hence." 

The  man  gave  a  scream  of  delight,  and  attempted  to 
throw  himself  at  Flavian's  feet.  His  superlative  joy  was 
almost  ludicrous.  Half  a  dozen  hands  dragged  him  back. 

u  Take  him  away  —  who  cares  for  such  gratitude  !  " 

As  they  marched  him  off,  he  broke  like  an  imbecile  into 
hysterical  laughter.  Tears  streamed  from  his  eyes.  He 
mopped  his  face  with  the  corner  of  his  habit,  laughed  and 
snivelled,  and  sang  snatches  of  tavern  ditties.  So,  with 
many  a  grim  jest,  they  cuffed  Fra  Balthasar  out  of  Avalon. 

At  the  end  of  the  drama,  Flavian  called  for  tapers,  and 
marched  in  state  to  the  chapel.  He  knelt  before  the  altar 
and  prayed  to  the  Madonna,  whose  face  was  the  face  of 
the  girl  Yeoland. 


XX 

"  FULVIAC,  I  cannot  fasten  all  these  buckles." 

The  man  waited  at  the  door  of  her  room,  and  looked  at 
her  with  a  half-roguish  smile  in  his  eyes. 

She  stood  by  the  window  in  Gothic  armour  of  a  grandly 
simple  type,  no  Maximilian  flutings,  no  Damascening,  the 
simple  Gothic  at  its  grandest,  nothing  more.  Her  breast- 
plate, with  salient  ridge,  was  blazoned  over  with  golden 
fleur-de-lis.  The  pauldrons  were  slightly  ridged ;  vam- 
brace  and  rere-brace  were  beautifully  jointed  with  most 
quaint  elbow-pieces.  She  wore  a  great  brayette,  a  short 
skirt  of  mail,  but  no  tassets.  In  place  of  cuishes,  jambs, 
and  solerets,  she  had  a  kirtle  of  white  cloth,  and  laced 
leather  shoes.  It  was  light  work  and  superbly  wrought ; 
Fulviac  had  paid  many  crowns  for  it  from  an  armourer  at 
Geraint. 

Her  beauty,  mailed  and  cased  in  steel,  seemed  to  shine 
upon  the  man  with  a  new  glory.  When  he  had  played  the 
armourer,  she  stood  and  looked  at  him  with  a  most  con- 
scious modesty,  a  warm  colour  in  her  cheeks,  eyes  full  of 
tremulous  light,  her  masses  of  dark  hair  rolling  down  over 
her  blazoned  cuirass.  A  hand  and  a  half  sword  in  a  gilded 
scabbard,  a  rich  baldric,  and  a  light  bassinet  lay  on  the  oak 
table.  Fulviac  took  the  sword,  and  belted  it  to  her,  and 
slung  the  baldric  over  her  shoulder.  His  hands  moved 
through  her  dark  hair.  For  a  moment,  her  eyes  trembled 
up  at  him  under  their  long  lashes.  He  gave  the  helmet 
into  her  hands,  but  she  did  not  wear  it. 

A  sudden  gust  of  youth  seized  the  man,  an  old  strain  of 
chivalry  woke  in  his  heart.  Grizzled  and  gaunt,  he  went 
on  his  knees  in  front  of  her  and  held  up  his  hands  as  in 
prayer.  There  was  a  warm  light  in  his  eyes. 

140 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  141 

"  The  Mother  Virgin  keep  you,  little  woman.  May  all 
peril  be  far  from  your  heart,  all  trouble  far  from  your  soul. 
May  my  arm  ever  ward  you,  my  sword  guard  your  woman- 
hood. All  the  saints  watch  over  you ;  may  the  Spirit  of 
God  abide  with  you  in  my  heart." 

It  was  a  true  prayer,  though  Fulviac  stumbled  up  from 
his  knees,  looking  much  like  an  awkward  boy.  He  was 
blushing  under  his  tanned  skin,  blushing,  scarred  and  bat- 
tered worldling  that  he  was,  for  his  heart  still  showed  gold 
to  the  knife  of  Time.  Yeoland  thought  more  of  him  that 
moment  than  she  had  done  these  four  months.  A  shadow 
passed  over  her  face,  and  she  touched  her  forehead  with  her 
hand. 

Fulviac,  a  far-away  look  in  his  eyes,  was  furling  her 
great  scarlet  banner  upon  its  staff.  Yeoland  spoke  to  him 
over  her  shoulder. 

"  I  am  in  your  hands,"  she  said. 

Fulviac  smoothed  out  a  crease. 

"  What  is  your  will,  you  have  not  yet  enlightened  me  ?  " 

He  looked  at  her  gravely  for  a  moment. 

"  You  are  ours,"  he  said,  "  a  woman  given  to  us  by 
heaven,"  he  hesitated,  as  over  a  lie ;  "  you  are  to  shine  out 
a  star,  a  pillar  of  fire  before  the  host ;  every  man  who 
follows  you  will  know  your  story  ;  every  man  who  follows 
you  will  worship  you  in  his  heart.  You  will  inspire  us  as 
no  mere  man  could  inspire ;  your  blood-red  banner  will 
wave  on  heroes,  patriots.  You  will  play  the  comet  with 
an  army  for  your  tail." 

Some  sudden  emotion  seemed  to  sweep  over  her.  She 
stood  motionless  with  clasped  hands,  looking  at  her  crucifix. 
There  was  a  strange  sadness  upon  her  face,  a  tragic  sanc- 
tity, as  on  the  face  of  a  woman  who  renounces  the  world, 
and  more.  For  a  long  while  she  was  silent,  as  though 
suffering  some  lustre  light  out  of  heaven  to  stream  into  her 
heart.  Presently  she  answered  Fulviac. 

"  God  help  me  to  be  strong,"  she  said,  "  God  help  me 
to  bear  the  burden  He  has  put  upon  my  soul." 


142  LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS 

"  Amen,  little  woman." 

"  And  now  ?  " 

"  Prosper  is  preaching  to  all  our  men  upon  the  cliff. 
He  is  telling  them  your  story.  I  take  you  now  to  set  you 
before  them  all,  that  they  may  look  upon  a  living  Saint. 
I  leave  the  rest  to  your  soul.  God  will  tell  you  how  to 
bear  yourself  in  the  cause  of  the  people.  Come,  let  us 
pray  a  moment." 

They  knelt  down  side  by  side  before  the  crucifix,  like 
effigies  on  a  tomb.  Fulviac's  face  was  in  shadow  ;  Yeo- 
land's  turned  heavenward  to  the  Cross.  It  was  her  renun- 
ciation. Then  they  arose ;  Fulviac  took  up  the  scarlet 
banner,  and  they  passed  out  together  from  the  room. 

Traversing  parlour  and  guard-room,  finding  them  empty 
and  silent  as  a  church,  they  came  by  the  winding  stairway 
in  the  rock  to  the  hollow  opening  upon  the  platform  above. 
Two  sentinels  stood  by  the  rough  door.  Above  and 
around,  great  stones  had  been  piled  up  so  as  to  form  a 
species  of  natural  battlement.  Fulviac,  bearing  the  banner, 
climbed  the  rocks,  and  signed  to  Yeoland  to  follow.  They 
were  still  within  a  kind  of  rude  tower,  walled  in  by  heaped 
blocks  of  stone  on  every  side.  They  were  alone  save  for 
the  two  sentinels.  Above,  they  saw  Prosper  the  Preacher 
standing  on  a  great  square  mass  of  rock,  his  tall  figure  out- 
lined against  the  sky. 

They  could  see  that  the  man  was  borne  along  by  the 
strong  spirit  of  the  preacher.  His  arms  tossed  to  the  sky 
as  he  bent  forward  and  preached  to  those  invisible  to 
Fulviac  and  the  girl.  His  oratory  was  of  a  fervid,  strenu- 
ous type,  like  fire  leaping  in  a  wind,  fierce,  mobile,  pas- 
sionate. They  could  see  him  stride  to  and  fro  on  his 
platform,  gesticulate,  point  to  heaven,  smite  his  bosom, 
strike  attitudes  of  ecstasy.  His  voice  rang  out  the  while, 
full  of  subtle  modulations,  the  pathetic  abandonments,  the 
supreme  outbursts  of  the  orator.  Much  that  he  said  fell 
deep  into  the  girl's  heart.  The  man  had  that  strange 
power,  that  magnetic  influence  that  exists  in  the  individual, 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  143 

defying  analysis,  yet  real  as  the  stirring  witchery  of  great 
music,  or  as  the  voice  of  the  sea. 

Anon  they  saw  him  fall  upon  his  knees,  and  lift  his 
hands  to  the  heavens.  He  had  cast  a  quick  glance  back- 
ward over  his  shoulder.  Prosper  had  soared  to  his  zenith  ; 
he  had  his  men  listening  as  for  the  climax  of  some  great  epic. 
Fulviac  thrust  Yeoland  forward  up  the  slope.  She  under- 
stood the  dramatic  pause  in  an  instant.  Prosper's  words 
had  been  like  the  orisons  of  birds  preluding  the  dawn.  She 
climbed  the  rocks,  and  stepped  out  at  the  kneeling  monk's  side. 

The  scene  below  dazed  her  for  the  moment.  Many 
hundred  faces  were  turned  to  her  from  the  slopes  at  her 
feet.  Innumerable  eyes  seemed  fixed  upon  her  with  a 
mesmeric  stare.  She  saw  the  whole  cliff  below  her  packed 
with  men,  every  rock  crowned  with  humanity,  even  the 
pine  trees  had  their  living  burden.  She  saw  swords  waving 
like  innumerable  streaks  of  light ;  she  had  a  confused 
vision  of  fanaticism,  exultation,  power.  Deep  seemed  calling 
unto  deep  ;  a  noise  like  the  noise  of  breakers  was  in  her  ears. 

Then  the  whole  grew  clear  on  the  instant.  The  sky 
seemed  strangely  luminous ;  every  outline  in  the  land- 
scape took  marvellous  and  intelligent  meaning.  Strange 
Promethean  fire  flashed  down  into  her  brain.  She  felt 
her  heart  leaping,  her  blood  bounding  through  her  body, 
yet  her  mind  shone  clear  as  a  crystal  grael. 

Below  her,  she  had  humanity,  plastic,  inflammable,  tinder 
to  her  touch.  An  infinite  realisation  of  power  seemed  to  leap 
in  her  as  at  the  beck  of  some  spirit  wand.  She  felt  all  the  dim 
heroism  of  dreams  glowing  in  her  like  wine  given  of  the  gods. 

Holy  fire  burnt  on  her  forehead  and  her  tongue  was 
loosed.  She  stood  out  on  the  great  rock,  her  armour 
flashing  in  the  sun,  her  face  bright  as  the  moon  in  her 
strength.  Her  voice,  clear  and  silvery,  carried  far  over  cliff 
and  wood,  for  the  day  was  temperate  and  without  a  wind. 

"  Look  upon  me  well.  I  tell  you  the  truth.  I  am  she 
to  whom  the  Madonna  appeared  from  heaven." 

Great  silence   answered  her,  the  silence  of  awe,  not  of 


144  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

disbelief  or  disapprobation.  Her  voice  rang  solitary  as  the 
voice  of  a  wood-fay  in  the  wilderness.  The  huddled  men 
below  were  silent  as  children  whose  solemn  eyes  watch  a 
priest  before  the  altar.  She  spoke  on. 

"  I  am  she  whose  tale  you  have  heard.  God  has  given  me 
to  the  cause  of  the  poor.  To  your  babes  and  to  your  women- 
folk I  lift  my  hands ;  from  the  Mother  of  Jesus  I  hold  my  com- 
mand. Men  of  the  land,  will  you  believe  and  follow  my 
banner  ? " 

A  thousand  hands  leapt  to  the  sun,  yet  hardly  a  voice  broke 
the  silence,  the  calm  as  of  supreme  revelation.  All  the  simple 
mediaeval  faith  shone  in  the  rough  faces  ;  all  the  quaint  rever- 
ence, the  unflinching  fidelity,  of  the  unlettered  of  the  age 
shone  in  their  hearts.  They  were  warm  earth  to  the  seed 
of  faith. 

"  Men  of  the  land,  I  hear  great  noise  of  violence  and 
wrong,  of  hunger  and  despair.  Your  lords  crush  you ; 
your  priests  go  in  jewels  and  fine  linen,  and  preach  not 
the  Cross.  Your  babes  are  slaves  even  before  they  see  the 
light.  Your  children,  like  brute  beasts,  are  bound  to  the 
soil.  Men  of  the  land,  give  me  your  strength,  give  me 
your  strength  for  the  cause  of  God." 

She  drew  her  sword  from  its  sheath,  pressed  the  blade  to  her 
lips,  held  it  up  to  heaven.  Her  voice  rang  over  rock  and  tree. 

"  Justice  and  liberty  !  " 

Her  shrill  hail  seemed  to  lift  the  silence  from  a  thousand 
throats.  The  human  sea  below  gave  up  its  soul  to  her 
with  thundering  surges  and  vast  sound  of  faith.  As  roar 
followed  roar,  she  stood  a  bright,  silvery  pinnacle  above 
the  black  fanaticism  beneath,  transcendent  Hope  holding 
her  sword  to  the  eternal  sun. 

Behind  her,  Fulviac  unwrapped  the  great  scarlet  banner 
she  had  wrought.  Its  cross  of  gold  gleamed  out  as  he 
lifted  the  staff  with  both  hands.  Prosper,  erect  and  exult- 
ant, stood  pointing  to  its  device.  Then,  in  sight  of  all 
men,  he  bowed  down  before  the  girl  and  kissed  her  feet,  as 
though  she  had  been  some  rare  messenger  out  of  heaven. 


XXI 

THE  day  had  done  gloriously  till  noon,  but  the  sky's  mood 
changed  as  evening  advanced.  Clouds  were  huddled  up  in 
grey  masses  by  a  gathering  and  gusty  wind,  and  the  June 
calm  took  flight  like  a  girl  in  a  new  gown  when  rain 
threatens. 

By  nightfall,  a  storm  held  orgy  over  the  cliff.  Billow 
upon  billow  of  wind  came  roaring  over  the  myriad  trees. 
The  pines  were  sweeping  a  murky  sky  with  their  black 
brooms,  creaking  and  moaning  in  chorus.  Rain  rattled 
heavily,  and  over  the  cliff  the  storm  thundered  and  cried 
with  the  long  wail  of  the  wind  over  rock  and  tree. 

In  Yeoland's  chamber  the  lamp  flared  and  smoked,  and 
the  postern  clattered.  Rain  splashed  upon  the  shivering 
casement ;  the  carpet  breathed  restlessly  with  the  draught 
under  the  door.  It  was  late,  yet  the  girl  was  still  at  her 
devotions.  Her  thoughts  were  dishevelled  and  full  of  dis- 
cords, while  between  her  fingers  the  beads  of  her  rosary 
moved  listlessly,  and  her  prayers  were  broken  by  the 
anathemas  of  the  storm. 

The  dual  distractions  of  life  had  come  in  her  to  grappling 
point  again.  She  could  boast  no  omnipotence  in  her  own 
heart,  and  could  but  give  countenance  to  one  of  the  two 
factions  that  clamoured  for  her  favour.  As  her  mood 
changed  like  the  mood  of  a  fickle  despot  none  too  sure  of 
his  throne,  so  tumult  and  despair  were  let  loose  time  after 
time  into  the  echoing  courts  and  alleys  of  her  soul.  She 
had  neither  the  courage  nor  the  force  of  will  for  the 
moment  to  compel  herself  either  to  satisfy  her  woman- 
hood or  sacrifice  her  instincts  to  a  religious  conviction. 

US 


146  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

Man  and  God  held  each  a  half  of  her  being.  The  man's 
face  outstared  God's  face ;  God's  law  overshadowed  the 
man's. 

She  had  been  carried  into  the  palpitating  azure  of  reli- 
gious exaltation.  The  world  had  rolled  at  her  feet.  She 
had  bathed  her  forehead  in  the  infinite  forethought  of 
eternity ;  she  had  heard  the  stupendous  sounding  of  the 
spheres.  Then  some  mischievous  sprite  had  plucked  the 
wings  from  her  shoulders,  and  she  had  fallen  far  into  an 
abyss.  After  spiritual  exaltation  comes  physical  depression. 
Neither  is  a  normal  state ;  neither  strictly  sane  to  the  intel- 
lect. Peter-like,  she  had  trod  the  waves ;  faith  had  played 
her  false ;  the  waters  had  gone  over  her  soul. 

As  she  knelt  brooding  before  her  crucifix,  under  the 
wavering  lamp,  she  was  smitten  into  listening  immobility, 
her  rosary  idle  in  her  hand.  A  cry  had  come  to  her  amid 
the  multitudinous  voices  of  the  storm,  a  cry  like  a  hail  from 
a  ship  over  a  tumbling  sea  at  night. 

She  waited  and  wondered.  Again  the  cry  rose  above 
the  babel  of  the  wind.  Was  it  from  Fulviac's  room  ;  or  a 
sentinel's  shout  from  the  cliff,  seized  upon  and  carried  by 
the  wind  with  distorting  vehemence  ?  Midnight  covered 
the  world,  and  the  girl  was  in  an  impressionable  mood.  She 
took  the  lamp  from  its  bracket  and,  opening  the  door, 
peered  down  the  gallery  that  led  to  Fulviac's  room. 

A  sudden  sinister  sound  made  her  start  back  into  the 
room,  the  lamp  flashing  tremulous  beams  upon  the  walls, 
and  striking  confusion  into  the  shadows.  A  hand  was 
beating  heavily  upon  the  postern. 

She  set  the  lamp  in  its  bracket,  crept  to  the  door,  put 
her  ear  to  the  lock  and  listened.  The  knocking  had 
ceased,  and  in  a  momentary  lulling  of  the  wind  she  even 
fancied  she  could  hear  the  sound  of  deep  breathing.  Her 
heart  was  hurrying,  but  suspense  emboldened  her. 

"  Who's  there  ?  " 

A  sudden  gust  made  such  a  bluster  that  her  voice  died 
almost  unheard  in  the  night.  There  was  a  vague  clangour 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  147 

without,  as  of  arms,  and  the  knocking  re-echoed  sullenly 
through  the  room.  A  lull  came  again. 

"Who  knocks?" 

This  time  an  answer  came  back  to  her. 

u  I  —  Flavian." 

She  caught  her  breath  and  shivered. 

"  What  do  you  want  at  midnight,  and  in  such  a 
storm  ? " 

"  Let  me  in.     Open  to  me." 

«  No  —  no." 

"  Open  to  me." 

"  Are  you  still  mad  ?  " 

Silence  held  a  moment.  Then  the  voice  rose  again, 
with  the  hoarse  moan  of  the  wind  for  an  underchant. 

"  Liberty,  liberty,  I  am  free,  I  am  free." 

She  shrank  aside  against  the  wall. 

u  The  night  gave  me  my  chance ;  I  have  men  in  the 
wood.  Let  me  in." 

"  Ah,  messire." 

"  I  plead  for  love  and  my  own  soul.  I  come  to  give 
you  life,  sword,  all.  I  cannot  leave  you  ;  I  am  in  outer 
darkness ;  you  are  in  heaven.  Let  me  in." 

She  stood  swaying  like  a  reed  in  a  breeze.  Her  brain 
glowed  like  some  rich  scheme  of  colour,  some  sun-ravished 
garden.  The  massed  moan  of  a  hundred  viols  seemed 
to  sweep  over  her  soul.  God,  for  the  courage  to  be 
weak! 

"  Yeoland  !  Yeoland  !  have  you  no  word  for  me  ?  " 

Her  hand  trembled  to  the  door ;  her  fingers  closed  upon 
the  key.  She  hesitated  and  her  dangling  rosary  caught 
her  glance  ;  sudden  revulsions  of  purpose  flooded  back ; 
she  stumbled  away  from  the  door  like  one  about  to  faint. 

"  I  cannot,  I  cannot,"  she  said. 

"  I  will  break  down  the  door." 

The  threat  inspired  her. 

"  No,  no,  not  thus  can  you  win  me." 

"  I  will  break  in." 


148  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

"  Attempt  it,  and  I  will  call  the  guard.  You  will  lose 
hope  of  me  for  ever.  I  swear  it." 

Her  voice  rang  true  and  strong  as  a  sword.  With  her 
judgment,  silence  fell  again,  and  ages  seemed  to  crawl 
over  the  world.  When  the  man  spoke  again,  his  voice 
was  less  masterful,  more  pathetic. 

"  Have  you  no  hope  for  me  ?  "  it  said. 

"  I  have  given  you  life." 

"  What  is  life  without  love  ?  " 

She  sighed  very  bitterly. 

"  Messire,  you  do  not  understand,"  she  said. 

"  No,  you  are  a  riddle  to  me." 

"  A  riddle  that  you  may  read  anon  ;  time  will  show  you 
the  truth.  I  tell  you  I  am  given  to  God.  Only  in  one 
way  can  you  win  me." 

"  Are  you  solemn  over  this  ?  " 

"  Solemn  as  death." 

"Tell  me  that  only  way." 

"  Only  by  breaking  the  bonds  about  my  soul,  by 
liberating  me  from  myself,  by  battle  and  through  perils  that 
you  cannot  tell." 

11  War  and  the  sword  !  " 

"  Yet  not  to-night.  You  would  need  ten  thousand  men 
to  take  me  from  this  cliff.  I  advise  you  for  your  good. 
Only  by  great  power  and  the  sword  can  you  win  your 
desire." 

"  By  God,  then,  let  it  be  war." 

An  utter  sense  of  loneliness  flooded  over  her.  She 
sobbed  in  her  throat,  leant  against  the  door,  listened, 
waited.  The  wind  roared  without,  the  rain  beat  upon  the 
quaking  casement,  and  she  heard  the  multitudinous  moan- 
ing of  the  pines.  No  voice  companioned  her,  and  the  night 
was  void. 

A  sudden  access  of  passion  prompted  her.  She 
twisted  at  the  key,  tore  the  bolts  aside,  flung  the  door 
open.  The  stairway  was  empty.  Rain  whirled  in  her 
face,  as  she  stood  out  in  the  wind,  and  called  the 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  149 

man    many    times    by    name.      It    was    vain    and    to    no 
purpose. 

Presently  she  re-entered  the  room,  very  slowly,  and  barred 
the  door.  Her  rosary  rolled  under  her  feet.  She  picked 
it  up  suddenly  and  dashed  it  away  into  a  corner.  The  face 
on  the  crucifix  seemed  to  leer  at  her  from  the  wall. 


PART    III 


XXII 

AURELIUS,  physician  of  Gilderoy,  flourished  on  the  fatness 
of  a  fortunate  reputation.  He  was  a  rubicund  soul,  clean 
and  pleasant,  with  a  neatly-trimmed  beard,  and  a  brow  that 
seemed  to  dome  a  very  various  and  abundant  wisdom.  He 
combined  a  sprightly  humour  and  an  enlivening  presence  with 
the  reverent  solemnity  necessary  to  his  profession. 

As  for  the  ladies  of  Gilderoy,  they  reverenced  Master 
Aurelius  with  a  loyalty  that  became  perhaps  less  remarkable 
the  more  one  considered  the  character  of  the  worthy  char- 
latan. Aurelius  was  an  ^Esculap  in  court  clothing.  He 
was  ignorant,  but  as  no  one  realised  the  fact,  the  soul  of 
Hippocrates  would  have  been  wasted  in  his  body.  Dis- 
cretion was  his  crowning  virtue.  He  was  so  sage,  so 
intelligent,  so  full  of  a  simple  understanding  for  the  ways  of 
women,  that  the  frail  creatures  could  not  love  him  enough. 
The  confidences  granted  to  a  priest  were  nothing  compared 
to  the  truths  that  were  unmasked  to  his  tactful  ken.  The 
physician  is  the  priest  of  the  body,  a  privileged  person,  suf- 
fered to  enter  the  bed-chamber  before  the  solemn  rites  of 
the  toilet  have  been  performed.  He  sees  many  strange 
truths,  beholds  fine  and  wonderful  transfigurations,  pre- 
sides over  the  confessional  of  the  flesh.  And  Aurelius  never 
whispered  of  these  mysteries ;  never  displayed  astonish- 
ment ;  always  discovered  extraordinary  justification  for  the 
quaintest  inconsistencies,  the  most  romantic  failings.  He 
carried  a  sweet  and  sympathetic  air  of  propriety  about  with 
him,  like  a  perfume  that  exhaled  a  most  comfortable  odour 
of  religion.  His  salves  were  delectable  to  a  degree,  his 
unguents  and  cosmetics  remarkable  productions.  Dames 

153 


154  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

took  his  potions  in  lieu  of  Malmsey,  his  powders  in  place 
of  sweetmeats.  Never  did  a  more  pleasant,  a  more  tactful 
old  hypocrite  pander  to  the  failings  of  an  unregenerate 
world. 

Aurelius  stood  in  his  laboratory  one  June  morning,  bal- 
ancing a  money-bag  in  his  chubby  pink  palm.  He  seemed 
tickled  by  some  subtlety  of  thought,  and  wonderfully  well 
pleased  with  his  own  good-humour.  He  smiled,  locked  the 
money-bag  in  a  drawer  that  stood  in  a  confidential  cupboard, 
and,  taking  his  cap  and  walking-staff,  repaired  to  the  street. 
Pacing  the  narrow  pavement  like  a  veritable  potentate,  pre- 
tentious as  any  peacock,  yet  mightily  amiable  from  the 
superb  self-satisfaction  that  roared  in  him  like  a  furnace, 
he  acknowledged  the  greetings  of  passers-by  with  the  eleva- 
tion of  a  hand,  a  solemn  movement  of  the  head.  It  was 
well  to  seem  unutterably  serious  when  under  the  eyes  of  the 
mob.  Only  educated  folk  can  properly  understand  levity 
in  a  sage. 

In  the  Erminois,  a  stately  highway  that  ran  northwards 
from  the  cathedral,  he  halted  before  a  mansion  whose  win- 
dows were  rich  with  scutcheons  and  proud  blazonry.  Aure- 
lius prospered  with  the  rich.  The  atmosphere  of  the  mean 
quarters  was  like  a  miasma  to  him  ;  he  loved  sunlight  and 
high  places  where  he  might  bask  like  a  lizard.  He  passed 
by  a  great  gateway  into  the  inner  court,  and  was  admitted 
into  the  house  with  that  ready  deference  that  speaks  of 
familiarity  and  respect. 

Aurelius  climbed  the  broad  stairway,  and  sailed  like  a 
stately  carrack  into  my  lady's  chamber.  A  dame  in  blue 
and  silver  greeted  him  from  an  oriel.  The  compounder  of 
cosmetics  bowed,  disposed  his  staff  and  velvet  cap  upon  a 
table,  and  appropriated  the  chair  the  lady  had  assigned  to 
him. 

"  Superb  weather,  madame." 

"  Too  sultry,  though  I  am  a  warm-souled  person." 

w  True,  madame,  true,  Gilderoy  would  be  fresher  if  there 
were  no  mean  folk  to  stifle  up  the  streets  like  weeds.  The 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  155 

alleys  send  up  such  an  unpleasant  stench  upon  the  breeze, 
that  it  makes  the  cultured  sense  revolt  from  poverty." 

The  Lady  Duessa's  lips  curled  approvingly,, 

"  Poverty,  poverty,  my  dear  Aurelius,  is  like  a  carcase, 
fit  only  for  quicklime.  If  I  had  the  rule  of  the  place,  I 
would  make  poverty  a  crime,  and  cram  all  our  human 
sweepings  into  lazar  quarters." 

The  man  of  physic  nodded  for  sympathy. 

"  Exactly  so,  madame,  but  one  would  have  to  deal  with 
the  inevitable  religious  instinct." 

"  That  would  be  simple  enough,"  she  simpered.  "  I 
should  confine  religion  to  shadows  and  twinkling  tapers, 
lights  streaming  in  through  enamelled  casements  upon 
solemn  colours  bowing  before  dreamy  music ;  pardons  and 
absolutions  bought  with  a  purse  of  gold.  It  is  sad,  Aurelius, 
but  who  doubts  but  that  religion  makes  scavengers  of  us 
all  ?  Away  with  your  smug  widows,  your  frouzy  burgher 
saints,  your  yellow-skinned  priest-hunters  !  I  would  rather 
have  picturesque  sin  than  vulgar  piety." 

The  man  of  herbs  sighed  like  an  organ  pipe. 

u  Everything  can  be  pardoned  before  coarseness,"  he 
said;  "give  me  a  dirty  heart  before  a  dirty  face,  provided 
the  sinner  be  pretty.  I  trust  that  madame  was  satisfied 
with  my  endeavours,  that  the  perfumes  were  such  as  she 
desired,  the  oil  of  Arabia  pleasant  and  fragrant  ?  " 

"  Magical,  my  ./Esculap.  The  oil  makes  the  skin  like 
velvet,  and  the  drugs  are  paradisic  and  full  of  languors. 
Ah,  woman,  set  the  tray  beside  Master  Aurelius'  chair." 

The  man's  eyes  glistened  over  the  salver  and  the  cup. 
He  bowed  to  his  hostess,  sniffed,  and  pursed  his  lips  over 
the  wine. 

"  Madame  knows  how  to  warm  the  heart." 

"Truth  to  you.  Who  have  you  been  renovating  of 
late?  What  carcase  have  you  been  painting,  you  useful 
rogue  ? " 

"  Madame,  my  profession  is  discreet." 

"  I  see  your  work  everywhere.    There  is  the  little  brown- 


156  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

faced  thing  who  is  to  marry  John  of  Brissac.  Well,  she 
needed  art  severely.  Now  the  lady  has  a  complexion  like 
apple-blossom." 

The  old  man's  eyes  twinkled. 

"  Madame  is  pleased  to  jest,"  he  said,  "  and  to  think  her 
fancies  —  realities.  Were  all  ladies  as  fresh  as  Madame 
Duessa,  what,  think  you,  would  become  of  my  delectable 
art,  my  science  of  beauty  ?  I  should  be  a  poor  bankrupt 
old  man,  ruined  by  too  much  comeliness." 

Aurelius  always  had  the  wit  to  say  the  pleasantest  thing 
possible,  and  to  press  the  uttermost  drop  of  honey  from  the 
comb  of  flattery.  A  surly  tongue  will  break  a  man,  a  glib 
intelligence  ensure  him  a  fortune.  Aurelius  earned  many 
a  fee  by  a  pretty  speech,  or  a  tactful  suggestion.  Then  of 
course  he  was  never  hindered  by  sincerity. 

"  Holy  Dominic,"  laughed  the  lady,  "  I  have  proved  a 
good  patron  to  you  in  many  ways." 

"  And  I  trust  I  shall  always  deserve  madame's  trust." 

"A  discreet  tongue  and  a  comfortable  obedience  are 
sweet  things  to  a  woman,  Aurelius." 

"  Madame's  voice  recalls  Delphi." 

11  Ah,  the  Greeks  were  poets  ;  they  knew  how  to  fit  their 
religion  to  their  pleasures.  'Tis  only  we,  poor  fools,  who 
measure  sin  by  a  priest's  pardon.  Give  me  a  torch  before 
an  aspergill." 

The  man  of  physic  sipped  his  wine,  cogitating  over  it 
with  Jovian  wisdom. 

"  The  chief  aim  in  life,  madame,"  he  said,  "  should  be 
the  perfecting  of  one's  own  comfort.  'Tis  my  contention 
that  a  fat  bishop  is  a  finer  Christian  than  a  lean  friar. 
The  truism  is  obvious.  Is  not  my  soul  the  more  mellif- 
luous and  benign  if  its  shell  is  gilded  and  its  vest  of  velvet  ?  " 

Duessa  chuckled,  and  flipped  her  chin. 

"  Give  me  a  warm  bed,"  she  laughed,  "  and  I  will  pity 
creation.  The  world's  saints  are  plump  and  comely ;  the 
true  goddess  has  a  supple  knee.  Am  I  the  worse  for  being 
buxom !  " 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  157 

"  Madame,"  said  the  sage  with  great  unction,  "  only 
j;ars  denounce  gold,  and  heaven  is  the  dream  of  dis- 
eased souls.  The  cult  of  pleasure  is  the  seal  of  health. 
Discontent  is  the  seed  of  religion." 

The  door  opened  a  few  inches,  and  there  was  the  sound 
of  voices  in  muffled  debate  in  the  gallery.  The  Lady 
Duessa  listened,  rose  from  her  chair,  appeared  restless. 
The  man  of  physic  comprehended  the  situation,  and  with 
that  tact  that  characterised  him,  declared  that  he  had 
patronage  elsewhere  to  assuage.  The  lady  did  not  detain 
him,  but  dismissed  him  with  a  smile  —  a  smile  that  on 
such  a  face  as  hers  often  took  the  place  of  words.  So 
Master  Aurelius  took  his  departure. 

Five  minutes  later  Sforza,  Gonfaloniere  of  Gilderoy, 
occupied  the  vacant  chair  in  the  oriel. 

There  are  many  ways  to  fame.  By  the  broad,  em- 
battled gate  where  the  Cerberus  of  War  crouches ;  by  the 
glistening  stair  of  glass  where  all  the  beauty  of  the  world 
gleams  as  in  a  thousand  mirrors ;  by  the  cloaca  of  diplo- 
macy and  cunning,  that  tunnels  under  truth  and  honour. 
Sforza  of  Gilderoy  was  a  man  who  never  took  his  finger 
off  a  guinea  till  he  had  seen  ten  dropped  into  the  other 
palm.  He  was  a  narrow-faced,  long-whiskered  rat,  ever 
nibbling,  ever  poking  his  keen  snout  into  prospective  pros- 
perity. He  had  no  real  reverence  for  anything  under  the 
sun.  To  speak  metaphorically,  he  would  as  soon  steal 
the  sacrificial  wafer  from  the  altar  as  the  cheese  from  a 
burgher's  larder.  When  he  lived  in  earnest,  he  lived  in 
moral  nebulosity,  that  is  to  say,  he  had  no  light  save  his 
own  lantern.  Publicly,  he  appeared  a  sleek,  dignified 
person,  quick  with  his  figures,  apt  at  oratory,  a  man  who 
could  quote  scripture  by  the  ell  and  swear  by  every  saint 
in  the  calendar. 

Sforza,  Gonfaloniere  of  Gilderoy,  sat  and  faced  Dame 
Duessa  over  a  little  table  that  held  wine  and  a  bowl  of 
roses.  His  large  hands  rested  on  the  carved  arms  of  the 
chair.  He  had  a  debonair  smirk  on  his  face,  a  mask  of 


158  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

complacency  that  suffered  him  to  be  vigilant  in  a  polite 
and  courteous  fashion. 

"  Madame  has  considered  my  proposition  ?  " 

The  woman  leant  back  in  her  chair  and  worked  her  full 
lower  lip  against  her  teeth. 

"  I  recognise  your  infallibility,  Gonfaloniere." 

"  Only  to  the  level  of  human  foresight,  madame." 

"You  have  a  longer  nose  than  most  men." 

"  I  take  the  insinuation  as  a  compliment." 

He  contemplated  her  awhile  in  silence. 

"  How  am  I  to  know  that  you  are  sincere  ? "  he  said. 

"  Need  you  disbelieve  me  ?  " 

"  It  is  my  custom  to  disbelieve  in  everybody." 

u  Till  they  have  satisfied  you  ?  " 

"  Exactly." 

Duessa  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  played  with  her 
chatelaine. 

"  You  know  women  ?  " 

"  I  would  never  lay  claim  to  such  an  arrogance  of  cun- 
ning." 

"  Nevertheless  you  are  no  fool." 

"  I  am  no  fool." 

"And  you  imagine  my  protestations  are  not  sincere, 
even  after  what  I  have  suffered  ?  " 

He  smiled  at  her  most  cunningly. 

"  You  want  proof  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  like  unsigned  documents." 

She  started  forward  in  her  chair  with  a  strangely  strenu- 
ous look  on  her  face. 

"  Fanatic  fools  have  often  made  some  show  of  fortitude," 
she  said,  "by  thrusting  a  hand  into  the  fire,  or  the  like. 
See  now  if  I  am  a  liar  or  a  coward." 

Before  he  could  stay  her  she  drew  a  small  stiletto  from 
her  belt,  spread  her  left  hand  on  the  table,  and  then  smote 
the  steel  through  the  thick  of  the  palm,  and  held  it  there 
without  flinching  as  the  blood  flowed. 

"  My  signature,"  she  said,  with  her  cheeks  a  shade  paler. 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  KUJNS  159 

"  Madame,  you  have  spirit." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  me  ?  " 

"  I  may  say  so." 

"  You  will  include  me  in  your  schemes  ?  " 

« I  will." 

"  You  remember  our  mutual  bargain  ?  " 

"  I  remember  it." 

She  withdrew  the  stiletto  and  wrapped  her  bleeding 
hand  in  her  robe. 

"  You  will  initiate  me  —  at  once." 

11  To-morrow,  madame,  you  shall  go  with  me  to  the 
council." 


XXIII 

CASTLE  GAMBREVAULT  stood  out  on  a  great  cliff  above 
the  sea,  like  a  huge  white  crown  on  the  country's  brow. 
It  was  as  fine  a  mass  of  masonry  as  the  south  could  show, 
perched  on  its  great  outjutting  of  the  land,  precipiced  on 
every  side,  save  on  the  north.  Hoary,  sullen,  stupendously 
strong,  it  sentinelled  the  sea  that  rolled  its  blue  to  the  black 
bastions  of  the  cliffs.  Landwards,  green  downs  swept  with 
long  undulations  to  the  valleys  and  the  woods. 

That  Junetide  Gambrevault  rang  with  the  clangour  of 
arms.  The  Lord  Flavian's  riders  had  spurred  north,  east, 
and  west  to  manor  and  hamlet,  grange  and  lone  moorland 
tower.  There  had  been  a  great  burnishing  of  arms,  a 
bending  of  bows  through  all  the  broad  demesne.  Steel  had 
trickled  over  the  downs  towards  the  tall  towers  of  Gambre- 
vault. Knights,  with  esquires,  men-at-arms,  and  yeomen, 
had  ridden  in  to  keep  feudal  faith.  The  Lord  Flavian  had 
swept  the  country  for  a  hundred  miles  for  mercenary  troops 
and  free-lances.  His  coffers  poured  gold.  He  had  pitched 
a  camp  in  the  Gambrevault  meadows ;  some  fifteen  hun- 
dred horse  and  two  thousand  foot  were  gathered  under  his 
banner. 

From  the  hills  cattle  were  herded  in,  and  heavy  wains 
laden  with  flour  creaked  up  to  the  castle.  There  was 
much  victualling,  much  blaring  of  trumpets,  much  blowing 
of  pennons,  much  martial  stir  in  the  meadows.  It  seemed 
as  though  the  Lord  Flavian  had  a  strenuous  campaign  in 
view,  and  there  was  much  conjecture  on  the  wind.  The 
strange  part  of  it  was,  that  none  save  Sir  Modred  had  any 
knowledge  for  what  or  against  whom  they  were  to  fight. 

160 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  l6l 

It  might  be  John  of  Brissac,  Gambrevault's  mortal  enemy ; 
it  might  develop  into  a  demonstration  against  the  magis- 
tracy of  Gilderoy.  Blood  was  to  be  spilt,  so  ran  the 
current  conviction.  For  the  rest,  Flavian's  feudatories 
were  loyal,  and  left  the  managing  of  the  business  to 
their  lord. 

The  men  had  been  camped  a  week,  and  yet  there 
was  no  striking  of  tents,  no  plucking  up  of  pennons. 
Sir  Modred  had  ridden  out  to  bring  in  a  body  of  five 
hundred  mercenaries  from  Geraint.  The  Lord  Flavian 
himself,  with  a  troop  of  twenty  spears,  was  lodged  for 
a  few  days  in  Gilderoy,  in  the  great  Benedictine  mon- 
astery, where  his  uncle  held  rule  as  abbot.  He  was 
negotiating  for  arms,  fifty  bassinets,  two  hundred  gis- 
armes,  a  hundred  ranseurs,  fifty  glaives,  and  a  number 
of  two-handed  swords.  He  had  found  the  Armourer's 
Guild  peculiarly  insolent,  and  disinclined  to  serve  him. 
He  had  little  suspicion  that  Gilderoy  was  seething  under 
the  surface  like  so  much  lava. 

Thus,  while  the  Lord  Flavian  was  preparing  for  his 
march  into  the  great  pine  forest,  Fulviac  had  completed 
his  web  of  revolt.  He  had  heard  of  the  gathering  at 
Gambrevault,  and  had  hurried  on  his  schemes  in  conse- 
quence. Five  thousand  men  were  ready  at  his  back. 
He  would  gain  ten  thousand  men  from  Gilderoy ;  seven 
thousand  from  Geraint.  These  outlaw  levies,  free-lances, 
and  train-bands  would  give  him  the  nucleus  of  the  vast 
host  that  was  to  spring  like  corn  from  every  quarter  of 
the  land.  Malgo  was  to  head  the  rising  in  the  west, 
and  to  concentrate  at  Conan,  a  little  town  in  the  moun- 
tains. In  the  east,  Godamar  was  to  gather  a  great  camp 
in  Thorney  Isle  amid  the  morasses  of  the  fens.  Fulviac 
would  himself  overthrow  the  lords  of  the  south.  Then 
they  were  to  converge  and  to  gather  strength  for  the 
march  upon  Lauretia,  proud  city  of  the  King. 

It  would  be  a  great  war  and  a  bitter,  full  of  fanatical 
fierceness  and  revenge.  Fulviac  had  given  word  to  take, 


1 62  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

pillage,  and  burn  all  strong  places.  Destiny  stood  with 
wild  hands  to  the  heavens,  a  bosom  of  scarlet,  and  hair 
aghast.  If  the  horde  conquered,  the  seats  of  the  mighty 
would  reek  amid  flame ;  there  would  be  death,  and  a  great 
silence  over  proud  cities. 


XXIV 

IN  an  antechamber  in  the  palace  of  Sforza  of  Gilderoy 
stood  the  Lady  Duessa,  watching  the  day  die  in  the  west  over 
a  black  chaos  of  spires  and  gables.  Before  her,  under  the 
casement,  lay  the  palace  garden,  a  pool  of  perfume,  banked 
with  tall  cypresses,  red  with  the  fire  of  a  myriad  roses. 
As  night  to  the  sunset,  so  seemed  this  antechamber  to  the 
garden,  panelled  with  black  oak,  a  dark  square  of  gloom 
red-windowed  to  the  west.  The  place  had  a  sullen,  iron- 
mouthed  look,  as  though  its  walls  had  developed  through 
the  years  a  sour  and  world-wise  silence. 

The  Lady  Duessa  was  not  a  woman  who  could  trail 
tamely  in  anterooms.  A  restless  temper  chafed  her  pride 
that  evening,  and  kept  her  footing  the  polished  floor  like  a 
love-lorn  nun  treading  a  cloister.  The  casements  were 
open  to  the  garden,  and  the  multitudinous  sounds  of  the 
city  flooded  in — the  thunder  of  the  tumbrils  in  the  nar- 
row streets,  the  distant  blare  of  trumpets  from  the 
castle,  the  clangour  of  the  cathedral  bells.  A  solitary 
figure  companioned  the  Lady  Duessa  in  the  anteroom, 
cloaked  and  masked  as  was  the  dame  herself.  It  was 
Balthasar  the  Dominican,  who  followed  her  now  in 
secular  habit,  having  forsworn  his  black  mantle  and 
taken  refuge  in  her  service.  From  time  to  time  the  two 
spoke  together  in  whispering  undertones ;  more  than  once 
their  lips  touched. 

The  Lady  Duessa  turned  and  stood  by  a  casement  with 
her  large  white  hands  on  the  sill.  She  appeared  to  grow 
more  restive  as  the  minutes  passed,  as  though  the  antique 
clock  on  the  mantle  clicked  its  tongue  at  her  each  gibing 
second. 

'63 


164  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

"This  is  insolence,"  she  said  anon,  "holding  us  idling 
here  like  ragged  clients." 

Balthasar  joined  her,  soft-footed  and  debonair,  his  black 
eyes  shining  behind  his  mask. 

"  Peter  kept  Paul  before  the  gate  of  heaven,"  quoth 
he,  with  a  curl  of  the  lip.  "  Sforza  is  a  meddler  in  many 
matters,  a  god-busied  Mercury.  As  for  me,  I  am 
content." 

Their  hands  touched,  and  intertwined  with  a  quick 
straining  of  the  fingers. 

"  Pah,"  said  the  woman  with  a  shiver,  "  this  room  is 
like  a  funeral  litter;  it  chills  my  marrow." 

Balthasar  sniggered. 

"See,  the  sky  burns,"  he  said;  "yon  garden  is  packed 
with  colour.  \Ve  could  play  a  love  chase  amid  those 
dark  hedges  of  yew." 

She  pressed  her  flank  to  his ;  her  eyes  glittered  like 
amethysts  ;  her  breath  hastened. 

"  My  mouth,  man." 

She  pouted  out  her  full  red  lips  to  his ;  suffered  his 
arms  to  possess  her;  they  kissed  often,  and  were  out  of 
breath.  A  door  creaked.  The  two  started  asunder  in 
the  shadows  with  an  impatient  stare  into  each  other's  eyes. 

Sforza  the  Gonfaloniere  stood  on  the  threshold,  clad 
plainly  in  a  suit  of  black  velvet,  with  a  sword  buckled  at 
his  side.  He  bowed  over  Duessa's  hand,  kissed  her  finger 
tips,  excusing  himself  the  while  for  the  delay.  He  was 
very  suave,  very  facile,  as  was  his  wont.  The  Lady 
Duessa  took  his  excuses  with  good  grace,  remember- 
ing their  compact,  and  the  common  purpose  of  their 
ambitions. 
"  Gonfaloniere,  we  wait  our  initiation." 

Sforza's  eyes  were  fixed  on  Balthasar  with  a  keen  and 
ironical  glitter. 

"  Very  good,  madame." 

"  Remember ;  Lord  Flavian's  head,  that  is  to  be  my 
guerdon." 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  KUINS  165 

"  Madame,  we  will  remember  it.     And  this  gentleman  ? " 

"  Is  the  friend  of  whom  I  spoke." 

"  A  most  loyal  friend,  methinks  ?  " 

"  True." 

The  Gonfaloniere  coughed  behind  his  fingers,  and  spoke 
in  his  half-husky  tenor. 

"  You  are  ready  to  risk  everything  ?  " 

Duessa  reassured  him. 

"Expect  no  blood  and  thunder  ceremonial,"  he  said  to 
them  ;  "  we  are  grim  folk,  but  very  simple.  Your  presence 
will  incriminate  you  both.  Be  convinced  of  that." 

He  led  them  by  a  little  closet  into  the  state-room  of  the 
palace,  a  rich  chamber  lit  by  many  tapers,  its  doorway  held 
by  a  guard  of  armed  men.  Statues  in  the  antique  gleamed 
in  the  alcoves.  The  panelling  shone  with  gem-brilliant 
colouring.  Armoires  and  carved  cabinets  stood  against  the 
walls.  The  ceiling  was  of  purple,  with  the  signs  of  the 
Zodiac  in  gold  thereon. 

In  the  centre  of  the  room,  before  a  slightly  raised  dais, 
stood  a  round  table  inlaid  with  diverse-coloured  stones. 
Scrolls,  quills,  and  inkhorns  covered  it.  Some  twoscore 
men  were  gathered  round  the  table,  staring  with  masked 
faces  at  a  map  spread  before  them  —  a  map  showing  all 
the  provinces  of  the  south,  with  towns  and  castles  marked 
in  vermilion  ink  thereon.  A  big  man  in  a  red  cloak  stood 
conning  the  parchment,  pointing  out  with  a  long  forefinger 
certain  marches  to  the  masked  folk  about  him. 

Sforza  pointed  Duessa  and  Balthasar  to  a  carved  bench 
by  the  wall. 

"  Have  the  patience  to  listen  for  an  hour,"  he  said,  turn- 
ing to  join  the  men  about  the  table. 

A  silver  bell  tinkled,  and  a  priest  came  forward  to  patter 
a  few  prayers  in  Latin.  At  the  end  thereof,  the  masked 
Samson  in  the  red  cloak  stood  forward  on  the  dais  with  up- 
lifted fist.  Instant  silence  held  throughout  the  room. 
The  man  in  red  began  to  speak  in  deep,  full-throated  tones 
that  seemed  to  vibrate  from  his  sonorous  chest. 


1 66  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

His  theme  was  the  revolt,  his  arguments,  the  grim  bleak 
facts  that  bulked  large  in  the  brain  of  a  leader  of  men.  He 
dealt  with  realism,  with  iron  detail,  and  the  strong  sugges- 
tions of  success.  Revolt,  in  the  flesh,  bubbled  like  lava  at 
a  crater's  brim,  seething  to  overflow  and  scorch  the  land. 
It  was  plain  that  the  speaker  had  great  schemes,  and  a  will 
of  adamant.  His  ardour  ran  down  like  a  cataract,  smiting 
into  foam  the  duller  courage  of  the  multitude. 

When  he  had  ended  his  heroic  challenge  to  the  world, 
he  took  by  the  hand  a  girl  who  stood  unmasked  at  his  side. 
She  was  clad  all  in  white  with  a  cross  of  gold  over  her 
bosom,  and  her  face  shone  nigh  as  pallid  as  her  mantle. 
The  men  around  the  table  craned  forward  to  get  the  better 
view  of  her.  Nor  was  it  her  temporal  beauty  alone  that 
set  the  fanatical  chins  straining  towards  her  figure.  There 
was  a  radiance  as  of  other  worlds  upon  her  forehead,  a 
glamour  of  sanctity  as  though  some  sacred  lamp  shed  a 
divine  lustre  through  all  her  flesh. 

At  the  moment  that  the  man  in  the  red  mask  had 
drawn  the  girl  forward  beside  him  on  the  dais,  Balthasar, 
with  a  stifled  cry,  had  plucked  the  Lady  Duessa  by  the 
sleeve.  She  had  started,  and  stared  in  the  friar's  face  as  he 
spoke  to  her  in  a  whisper,  a  scintillant  malice  gathering  in 
her  eyes.  Balthasar  held  her  close  to  him  by  the  wrist. 
They  were  observed  of  none  save  by  Fulviac,  whose  care 
it  was  to  watch  all  men. 

As  Balthasar  muttered  to  her,  Duessa's  frame  seemed 
to  straighten,  to  dilate,  to  stiffen.  She  did  not  glance  at 
the  friar,  but  sat  staring  at  the  girl  in  white  upon  the  dais. 
The  Madonna  of  the  chapel  of  Avalon  had  risen  before 
her  as  by  magic ;  her  dispossessor  stood  before  her  in  the 
flesh.  Balthasar's  tongue  bore  witness  to  the  truth.  In 
the  packed  passion  of  a  moment,  Duessa  remembered  her 
shame,  her  dishonour,  her  hunger  for  revenge. 

The  girl  upon  the  dais  had  been  speaking  to  the  men 
assembled  round  her  with  the  simple  calm  of  one  whose 
soul  is  assured  of  faith.  For  all  her  fierce  distraction 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  1 67 

each  word  had  fallen  into  Duessa's  brain  like  pebbles  into 
a  well.  A  mocking,  riotous  scorn  chuckled  and  leapt  in 
her  like  the  laughter  of  some  lewd  faun.  She  heard  not 
the  zealous  mutterings  that  eddied  through  the  room.  Her 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  man  in  the  red  cloak,  as  he  bent  to 
kiss  the  girl's  slim  hand. 

She  saw  Fulviac  turn  and  point  to  a  roll  of  parchment 
on  the  table. 

"  We  swim,  sirs,  or  sink  together,"  were  his  words ; 
u  there  can  be  no  traitors  to  the  cause.  In  three  days 
we  hoist  our  banner.  In  three  days  Gilderoy  shall  rise. 
Sign,  gentlemen,  sign,  in  the  name  of  God  and  of  our 
Lady." 

The  leaders  of  Gilderoy  crowded  about  the  table  where 
Prosper  the  Preacher  waited  with  quill  and  testament, 
Sforza  standing  with  drawn  sword  beside  him.  Fulviac 
had  headed  those  who  took  the  oath,  and  had  drawn  back 
from  the  press  on  to  the  dais.  Meanwhile  Duessa,  with 
Balthasar  muttering  discretions  in  her  ear,  had  skirted  the 
black  knot  of  conspirators  and  come  close  upon  Fulviac. 
While  Sforza  and  the  rest  were  intent  upon  the  scroll,  she 
plucked  the  man  in  red  by  the  sleeve,  and  spoke  to  him  in 
an  undertone. 

"  A  word  with  you  in  an  alcove." 

Fulviac  stared,  but  drew  aside  from  the  group  none  the 
less  and  followed  her.  She  had  moved  to  an  oriel  and  sat 
down  on  the  cushioned  seat,  her  black  robe  sweeping  the 
crimson  cloth.  Fulviac  stood  and  faced  her,  thus  closing 
her  escape  from  the  oriel.  Midway  between  them  and 
the  table,  Balthasar  stood  biting  his  nails  in  sullen  vexation, 
ignorant  of  where  the  woman's  headstrong  passions  might 
be  bearing  them. 

Duessa  soon  had  Fulviac  at  the  tongue's  point. 

"  You  are  the  first  man  in  this  assemblage  ? "  she  had 
asked  him. 

"  Madame,  that  is  so." 

"  I  have  a  truth  to  make  known." 


1 68  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

"  Unmask  to  me." 

She  hesitated,  then  obeyed  him. 

41  Possibly  I  am  known  to  you,"  she  said. 

Fulviac  stood  back  a  step,  and  looked  at  her  as  a  man 
might  look  at  an  old  love.  A  knot  of  wrinkles  showed 
on  his  forehead. 

"  Duessa  of  the  Black  Hair." 

"  Ah,  in  the  old  days." 

"  What  would  you  now,  madame  ?  " 

"  Let  me  see  your  face." 

"  No." 

"  You  hold  me  at  a  disadvantage." 

"  That  is  well.     Tell  me  this  tale  of  yours." 

His  voice  was  cold  as  a  frost,  and  there  was  an  inclem- 
ent look  about  him  that  should  have  warned  the  woman 
had  she  been  less  blinded  by  her  own  malice.  She  had 
lost  her  cunning  in  her  fuming  passion,  and  denounced 
when  she  should  have  suggested,  blurted  the  whole  when 
a  hint  would  have  sufficed  her. 

"  I  was  the  Lord  Flavian  of  Gambrevault's  wife,"  she  said. 

"  That  man  !  " 

"  That  devil !  " 

Fulviac  drew  a  deep  breath. 

«  Well  ?  "  he  said. 

"  The  fellow  has  divorced  me ;  I  will  tell  you  why.  You 
are  the  man  they  call  Fulviac.  It  was  you  who  took  the 
Lord  Flavian  in  an  ambuscade,  to  kill  him,  for  the  sake  of 
Yeoland  of  Cambremont,  who  stands  yonder.  The  whole 
tale  is  mine.  It  was  that  girl  who  let  the  Lord  Flavian 
escape  out  of  your  hands.  A  fine  fool  she  is  making  of  you, 
my  friend.  A  saint,  forsooth  !  Flavian  of  Avalon  might 
sing  you  a  strange  song." 

Duessa  took  breath.  She  had  prophesied  passion,  a  vol- 
canic outburst.  Fulviac  leant  against  the  wainscotting  with 
folded  arms,  his  masked  face  impenetrable,  and  calm  as 
stone.  He  stirred  never  a  muscle.  Duessa  had  ventured 
forth  into  the  deeps. 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  169 

The  man  thrust  a  question  at  her  suddenly. 

"  You  can  prove  the  truth  of  this  ?  " 

Duessa  pointed  him  to  Fra  Balthasar. 

"  The  priest  can  bear  out  my  tale.     I  will  beckon  him." 

"  Wait." 

«  Ah !  " 

"  Does  Sforza  know  of  this  ?  " 

"  None  know  it,  save  I  and  yonder  priest." 

u  Then  I  uncover  to  you." 

He  jerked  his  mask  away,  and  stood  half  stooping  towards 
her  with  a  peculiar  lustre  in  his  eyes.  Duessa  stared  at 
him  as  at  one  risen  from  the  dead.  Her  face  blanched  and 
stiffened  into  a  bleak,  gaping  terror,  and  she  could  not 
speak. 

"  Your  tale  dies  with  you." 

He  smote  her  suddenly  in  the  bosom  with  his  poniard, 
smote  her  so  heavily  that  the  blow  dragged  her  to  her  knees. 
She  screamed  like  a  trapped  hare,  pressed  her  hands  over 
her  bosom,  blood  oozing  over  them.  A  last  malevolence 
leapt  into  her  eyes ;  she  panted  and  strove  to  speak. 

"  Listen,  sirs,  hear  me " 

Fulviac,  standing  over  her  like  a  Titan,  smote  her  again 
to  silence,  and  for  ever.  With  arms  thrust  upwards,  she 
fell  forward  along  the  floor,  her  white  face  hidden  by  her 
hood.  A  red  ringlet  curled  away  over  the  polished  oak. 
Fulviac  had  sprung  away  with  jaw  clenched,  his  face  as 
stone.  He  drew  his  sword,  plucked  Balthasar  by  the 
throat,  hurled  him  back  against  the  wainscotting. 

"  A  spy,  poniard  him." 

The  great  room  rushed  into  uproar;  the  guards  came 
running  from  the  door.  Fulviac  had  passed  his  sword 
through  Balthasar's  body.  The  friar  rolled  upon  the  floor, 
yelping,  and  clutching  at  the  swords  that  stabbed  him.  It 
was  soon  over ;  not  a  moan,  not  a  whimper.  Sforza,  white 
as  a  corpse,  gripped  Fulviac  by  the  shoulder. 

"  Know  you  whom  you  have  killed  ?  " 

"  Well  enough,  Gonfaloniere." 


I/O  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

"  What  means  it  ?  " 

"  That  I  am  a  brave  man." 

Sforza  quailed  from  him  and  ran  to  the  oriel,  where  sev- 
eral men  had  lifted  the  woman  in  their  arms.  Her  lustrous 
hair  fell  down  from  under  her  hood  ;  her  hands,  stained 
with  her  own  blood,  trailed  limply  on  the  floor.  She  was 
a  pathetic  figure  with  her  pale,  fair  face  and  drooping  lids. 
The  men  murmured  as  they  held  her,  like  some  poor  bird, 
still  warm  and  plastic,  with  the  life  but  half  flown  from  her 
body. 

Fulviac  stood  and  looked  down  into  her  face.  His 
sword  still  smoked  with  Balthasar's  blood. 

"  Sirs,"  he  said,  and  his  strong  voice  shook,  "  hear  me, 
I  will  tell  you  the  truth.  Once  I  loved  that  woman,  but 
she  was  evil,  evil  to  the  core.  To-night  she  came  bring- 
ing discord  and  treachery  amongst  us.  I  have  done  mur- 
der before  God  for  the  sake  of  the  cause.  Cover  her 
face  ;  it  was  ever  too  fair  to  look  upon.  Heaven  rest  her 
soul !  " 


XXV 

Two  days  had  passed  since  the  secret  assembly  in  the 
house  of  Sforza,  Gonfaloniere  of  Gilderoy.  They  had 
buried  Duessa  and  Balthasar  by  night  in  the  rose  garden, 
by  the  light  of  a  single  lantern,  with  the  fallen  petals  for 
a  pall.  It  was  the  evening  before  the  day  when  the  land 
should  rise  in  arms  to  overthrow  feudal  injustice  and  op- 
pression. On  the  morrow  the  great  cliff  would  be  deso- 
late, its  garrison  marching  through  the  black  pine  woods  on 
Avalon  and  Geraint. 

Towards  eve,  when  the  sky  was  clear  as  a  single  sap- 
phire, Fulviac  came  from  his  parlour  seeking  Yeoland,  to 
find  her  little  chamber  empty.  A  strange  smile  played 
upon  his  face  as  he  looked  round  the  room  with  cruci- 
fix, embroidery  frame,  and  prayer-desk,  with  rosary  hung 
thereon.  He  picked  up  her  lute,  thrummed  the  strings, 
and  broke  broodingly  into  the  sway  of  some  southern 
song: 

"  Ah,  woman  of  love, 
With  the  stars  in  the  night, 
I  see  thee  above 
In  a  circlet  of  light. 
On  the  west's  scarlet  scutcheon 
I  mark  thy  device  ; 
And  the  shade  of  the  forest 
Makes  gloom  of  thine  eyes, 
God's  twilight 
To  me." 

He  ended  the  stanza,  kissed  the  riband,  and  set  the  lute 
down  with  a  certain  quaint  reverence.  The  postern  stood 

171 


172  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

open  and  admonished  him.  He  passed  out  down  the  cliff 
stairway  to  the  forest. 

An  indescribable  peace  pervaded  the  woods,  a  supreme 
silence  such  as  the  shepherd  on  the  hills  knows  when  the 
stars  beckon  to  his  soul.  Fulviac  walked  slowly  and 
thought  the  more.  He  felt  the  altitude  of  the  forest  still- 
ness as  of  miles  of  luminous,  windless  aether;  he  felt  the 
anguishing  pathos  of  a  woman's  face ;  he  felt  the  strange- 
ness of  the  new  philosophy  that  appealed  to  his  heart. 
Nothing  is  more  fascinating  than  watching  a  spiritual  up- 
heaval in  one's  own  soul ;  watching  some  great  power 
breaking  up  the  crust  of  custom  and  habit ;  pondering  the 
while  on  the  eternal  mysteries  that  baffle  reason. 

He  found  Yeoland  amid  the  pines.  She  had  been  to  the 
forest  grave  and  was  returning  towards  the  cliff  when  the  man 
met  her.  She  seemed  whiter  than  was  her  wont,  her  dark 
eyes  looking  solemn  and  shadowy  under  their  sweeping 
lashes.  She  seemed  marvellously  fair,  marvellously 
pure  and  fragile,  as  she  came  towards  him  under  the 
trees. 

Something  in  Fulviac's  look  startled  her.  Women  are 
like  the  sea  to  the  cloudy  moods  of  men,  in  that  they  catch 
every  sun-ray  and  shadow.  An  indefinite  something  in 
the  man's  manner  made  her  restless  and  apprehensive. 
She  went  near  to  him  with  questioning  eyes  and  laid  her 
hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  You  have  had  bad  news  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  Something  has  troubled  you  ?  " 

"  Perhaps." 

She  looked  at  him  pensively,  a  suspicion  of  reproach, 
pity,  and  understanding  in  her  eyes. 

"  Is  it  remorse,  your  conscience  ?  " 

"  My  conscience  ?      Have  I  had  one  !  " 

11  You  have  a  strong  conscience." 

u  Deo  gratias.     Then  you  have  unearthed  it,  madame." 

A  vein  of  infinite  bitterness  and  melancholy  seemed  to 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  1/3 

glimmer  in  his  mood.  It  was  a  moment  of  self-speculation. 
The  girl  still  looked  up  into  his  face. 

"  Why  did  you  kill  that  woman  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Her  dead  face  haunts  me,  I  see  it  everywhere ;  there 
is  some  strange  shadow  over  my  soul.  O  that  I  could 
get  her  last  cry  from  my  ears !  " 

Fulviac,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  cynicism,  broke  into 
grim  laughter,  a  sound  like  the  rattling  of  dry  bones  in  a 
closet.  The  girl  shrank  away  with  her  lips  twitching. 

"  Why  cannot  you  trust  me  with  the  truth  ?  " 

"  Truth  is  not  always  beneficent.  It  was  a  matter  of 
policy,  of  diplomacy." 

«  Why  ? " 

"  Discords  are  bad  at  the  eleventh  hour.  That  woman 
could  have  half-wrecked  our  cause.  It  was  policy  to 
silence  her  and  the  man.  I  made  sure  of  it  by  killing 
them." 

Yeoland's  face  had  a  shadow  of  repugnance  upon  it ; 
her  eyes  darkened.  The  man  seemed  in  a  callous,  scoffing 
humour;  it  was  mere  glittering  steel  over  the  bitterness 
within. 

11  You  will  tell  me  her  name?  " 

"  What  is  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  She  haunts  me." 

"  Forget  her." 

u  I  cannot." 

"  Have  the  truth  if  you  will.  She  was  the  wife  of  the 
Lord  Flavian  of  Gambrevault." 

The  girl  stood  motionless  for  a  moment ;  then  swayed 
away  several  steps  from  Fulviac  under  the  trees.  One 
hand  was  at  her  throat ;  her  voice  came  in  a  whisper. 

"  What  did  she  tell  you  ?  " 

"  Many  things." 

"  Quick,  do  they  touch  me  ?  " 

Fulviac  choked  an  oath,  and  played  with  his  sword. 

"  Then  there  was  some  truth  in  her  ?  "  he  said. 


174  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

The  girl  grew  imperious. 

"  I  command  you  to  tell  me  all." 

"  Madame,  the  woman  declared  you  were  a  traitress,  and 
that  this  lordling,  this  Flavian  of  Gambrevault,  loved  you." 

"And  you  killed  her " 

"  For  your  sake  and  the  cause.  She  might  have  cast 
our  Saint  out  of  heaven." 

Yeoland  went  back  from  him  and  leant  against  a  tree, 
with  her  hands  over  her  eyes.  Sunlight  splashed  down  upon 
her  dress ;  she  shivered  as  in  a  cold  wind,  and  could  not 
speak.  Fulviac's  voice,  level  and  passionless,  questioned 
her  as  she  stood  and  hid  her  face. 

"  You  let  the  Lord  Flavian  escape  ?  " 

"I  did." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  since  ?  " 

"  I  have." 

"  Thanks  for  the  truth." 

Her  responses  had  come  like  chords  smitten  from  the 
strings  of  a  lute.  She  started  away  from  the  tree  and  began 
to  walk  up  and  down,  wringing  her  hands.  Her  face  was 
like  the  face  of  one  in  torture,  and  she  seemed  to  struggle 
for  breath. 

"  Fulviac,  I  could  not  kill  the  man." 

The  words  came  like  a  wail. 

"  He  was  young,  and  he  besought  me  when  your  men 
were  breaking  down  the  gate.  What  could  I  do,  what 
could  I  do  ?  He  was  young,  and  I  let  him  go  by  the 
postern  and  told  you  a  lie.  God  help  me,  I  told  you  a 
lie." 

The  man  watched  her  with  arms  folded.  There  was  a 
look  of  deep  melancholy  upon  his  face,  as  of  one  wounded 
by  the  truth.  His  voice  was  sad  but  resolute. 

"  And  the  rest  ?  " 

She  rallied  suddenly  and  came  to  him  with  truth  in  her 
eyes ;  they  were  wonderfully  piteous  and  appealing. 

"  God  knows  I  have  been  loyal  to  you.  The  man 
tempted  me,  but  I  withstood  him ;  I  kept  my  loyalty." 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  175 


"  And  you  told  him 


"  Nothing,  nothing ;  he  is  as  innocent  as  a  child." 

Fulviac  looked  down  at  her  with  a  great  light  in  his 
eyes.  He  spoke  slowly  and  with  a  deeper  intonation  in 
his  voice. 

"  I  have  dealt  with  many  bad  women,"  he  said,  "  but  I 
believe  you  are  speaking  the  truth." 

"  It  is  the  truth." 

"  I  take  it  as  such ;  you  have  been  too  much  a  woman." 

u  Ah,  if  you  could  only  forgive." 

He  stepped  forward  suddenly,  took  her  hands,  and  looked 
down  at  her  with  a  vast  tenderness. 

"  Little  woman,  if  I  told  you  I  loved  you,  would  you 
still  swear  that  you  have  spoken  the  truth  ?  " 

"  God  judge  me,  Fulviac,  I  have  been  loyal." 

A  strange  light  played  upon  his  face. 

"  And  I,  ye  heavens,  have  I  learnt  my  lesson  in  these 
later  days  ?  Girl,  you  are  above  me  as  the  stars ;  I  may 
but  kiss  your  hands,  no  more.  You  are  not  for  worldly 
ways,  or  for  me.  Battered,  war-worn  veteran,  I  have  come 
again  by  the  heart  of  a  boy.  Fear  me  not,  little  woman, 
there  is  no  anger  in  a  great  love,  only  deep  grieving  and 
unalterable  honour." 


XXVI 

IT  was  dawn ;  mists  covered  the  forest ;  not  a  wind  stirred 
or  sobbed  amid  the  boughs.  A  vast  grey  canopy  seemed  to 
tent  the  world,  a  mysterious  veil  that  tempered  the  sun  and 
spread  a  spiritual  gloom  over  rock  and  tree. 

The  noise  of  horns  played  through  the  misty  aisles  — 
horns  many-tongued,  faint,  clamorous,  like  the  trumpet- 
ing of  forest  elves.  There  was  the  dull,  rhythmic  onrush 
of  many  thousand  feet,  the  hurrying,  multitudinous  tramp 
of  men  marching.  Armour  gleamed  through  the  glooms ; 
casque  and  bassinet,  salade  and  cap  of  steel  flowed  on  and 
on  as  phosphorescent  ripples  on  a  subterranean  stream. 
Pike,  glaive,  gisarme  shone  like  stubble  over  the  forest 
slopes.  The  sullen  tramp  of  men,  the  clashing  clamour 
of  arms,  the  blaring  of  a  solitary  clarion,  such  were  songs 
of  the  great  pine  forest  on  that  July  morning. 

Yeoland,  rebel  lady  and  saint,  on  a  great  white  horse, 
rode  at  Fulviac's  side  in  full  armour,  save  for  her  helmet. 
Her  horse  was  cased  in  steel  —  chamfron,  crinet,  gorget, 
poitrel,  croupiere  gleaming  like  burnished  silver.  She 
made  a  fine  and  martial  figure  enough,  a  glittering  dawn 
star  for  a  heroic  cause.  About  her  rode  her  guard,  the 
pick  of  Fulviac's  men,  some  fifty  spears  in  all,  masses  of 
steel,  each  bearing  a  scarlet  cross  blazoned  upon  his  white 
jupon.  Nord  of  the  Hammer  bore  the  red  banner 
worked  by  the  girl's  own  hands.  They  were  hardy  men 
and  big  of  bone,  sworn  to  keep  and  guard  her  to  the 
death. 

Fulviac  and  Yeoland  rode  side  by  side  like  brothers  in 
arms.  All  about  them  were  rolling  spears  and  rocking 

176 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  1/7 

helmets  moving  among  the  myriad  trees.  The  sound  of 
arms  surged  round  them  like  the  ominous  onrush  of  a  sea. 
War  followed  like  a  thunder-cloud  on  their  heels. 

Fulviac  was  in  great  spirits,  somewhat  solemn  and 
philosophic,  but  full  of  the  exultation  of  a  man  who  feels 
his  ship  surging  on  the  foaming  backs  of  giant  billows. 
His  eyes  were  proud  enough  when  they  scanned  the  girl 
at  his  side.  His  heart  thundered  an  echo  to  the  grim 
tramp  of  his  men  on  the  march. 

"  To-day,"  he  said,  making  grandiose  flourishes  with  his 
sword,  "  the  future  unrobes  to  us.  We  plunge  like  Ulysses 
into  the  unknown.  This  is  life  with  a  vengeance !  " 

She  had  a  smile  on  her  lips  and  a  far-away  look  in  her 
eyes. 

"  If  you  love  me,"  she  said,  "  be  merciful." 

"  Ah,  you  are  always  a  woman." 

"  There  are  many  women  such  as  I  am ;  there  are 
many  hearts  that  may  be  wounded ;  there  are  many 
children." 

He  looked  at  her  meditatively,  as  though  her  words  were 
both  bitter  and  sweet  in  his  mouth. 

"  You  must  play  the  philosopher,  little  woman ;  remem- 
ber that  we  work  for  great  ends.  I  will  have  mercy  when 
mercy  is  expedient.  But  we  must  strike,  and  strike  terror, 
we  must  crush,  we  must  kill." 

«  Yet  be  merciful." 

"  War  is  no  pastime ;  men  grip  with  gauntlets  of  iron, 
not  with  velvet  gloves.  Fanaticism,  hate,  revenge, 
patriotism,  lust  of  plunder,  and  the  rest,  what  powers  are 
these  to  let  loose  upon  a  land  !  We  have  the  oppression 
of  centuries  red  in  our  bosoms.  War  is  no  mere  subtle 
game  of  chess ;  the  wolf  comes  from  the  wilderness ;  the 
vulture  swings  in  the  sky.  Fire,  death,  blood,  rapine,  and 
despair,  such  are  the  elements  of  war." 

"  I  know,  I  know." 

"  To  purge  a  field,  we  burn  the  crop.  To  convert,  we 
set  swords  leaping.  To  cleanse,  we  let  in  the  sea.  To 


1/8  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

move  the  fabrics  of  custom  and  the  past,  a  man  must  play 
the  Hercules.  God  crushes  great  nations  to  insure  the  in- 
evitable evolution  of  His  will.  To  move  the  world,  one 
must  play  the  god." 

It  was  noon  when  the  vanguard  cleared  the  trees,  and 
spread  rank  on  rank  over  the  edge  of  a  moor.  A  zealous 
sun  shone  overhead,  and  the  world  was  full  of  light  and 
colour,  the  heather  already  a  blaze  of  purple,  the  bracken 
still  virgin,  the  dense  dark  pines  richly  green  against  the 
white  and  azure  of  the  sky. 

Fulviac,  Yeoland,  and  her  guards  rode  out  to  a  hillock 
and  took  station  under  the  banner  of  the  Cross.  The  forest 
belched  steel ;  rank  on  rank  swept  out  with  pikes  glitter- 
ing; shields  shone,  and  colours  juggled  mosaics  haphazard. 
Horse  and  foot  rolled  out  into  the  sun,  and  gathered  in 
masses  about  the  scarlet  banner  and  the  girl  in  her  silvery 
harness  on  the  great  white  horse.  The  forest  shadows 
were  behind  them,  they  had  cast  off  its  cloak ;  the  world 
lay  bare  to  their  faces  ;  they  were  hurling  their  challenge  in 
the  face  of  Fate.  Every  man  in  the  mass  might  well  have 
felt  the  future  glowing  upon  his  brain,  might  well  conceive 
himself  a  hero  and  a  patriot.  It  was  a  deep,  sonorous  shout 
that  rolled  up,  when  a  thousand  points  of  steel  smote  up- 
wards to  the  heavens.  Yeoland,  amid  her  guards,  had  dim 
visions  of  the  power  vested  in  her  slender  sword.  Where 
her  banner  flew,  there  brave  men  would  toss  their  pikes 
with  a  cheer  for  the  charge  home.  Where  her  sword 
pointed,  a  thousand  blades  would  leap  to  do  her  bidding. 
Even  as  she  pondered  these  things,  the  trumpets  sounded 
and  the  men  of  the  forest  marched  on. 

Fulviac's  plans  had  been  matured  but  a  week.  His 
opening  of  the  campaign  was  briefly  as  follows.  He  was 
bearing  north-west  towards  Geraint,  and  Geraint  was  to 
rise  that  night,  massacre  the  King's  garrison,  and  come 
out  to  him.  Avalon  lay  in  Fulviac's  path.  He  was  to 
smite  a  blow  at  it  on  his  march,  surprise  the  place  if  pos- 
sible, and  then  hold  on  for  Geraint.  The  same  night, 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  179 

Gilderoy  would  rise ;  the  castellan,  who  was  with  the 
townsfolk,  would  open  the  gates  of  the  castle  and  deliver 
up  all  arms  and  the  siege  train  that  was  kept  there.  From 
Geraint,  Fulviac  trusted  to  ride  on  with  a  single  troop  to 
take  command  at  Gilderoy,  leaving  Nord,  Prosper,  and  the 
girl  Yeoland  in  command  at  Geraint.  With  his  numbers 
raised  to  some  twenty  thousand  men,  he  would  have  his 
force  divided  into  two  bodies  —  ten  thousand  at  Gilderoy, 
ten  thousand  at  Geraint.  These  two  bodies  would  sweep 
up  by  forced  marches,  converge  on  Gambrevault,  crush  the 
Lord  Flavian's  small  armament,  shut  him  up  in  his  castle. 
Assault  or  leaguer  would  do  the  rest.  Meanwhile  the  peas- 
antry would  rise  and  flock  in  to  the  standard  of  the  people. 

Free  of  the  forest,  Fulviac  sent  on  a  troop  of  horse 
towards  Geraint  to  warn  the  townsfolk  of  his  advance. 
With  the  main  mass  of  the  foot,  he  held  northwards  over 
hill  and  dale,  and  towards  evening  touched  the  hem  of  the 
oak  woods  that  wrapped  the  manor  of  Avalon.  The  place 
was  but  feebly  garrisoned,  as  the  Lord  Flavian  had  with- 
drawn most  of  his  men  to  Gambrevault,  dreaming  little  of 
the  thunder-storm  that  was  shadowing  the  land. 

Fulviac  had  his  plan  matured.  Fifty  men-at-arms  in 
red  and  green,  the  Gambrevault  colours,  were  to  advance 
with  a  forged  pennon  upon  the  place,  as  though  sent 
as  a  reinforcement  from  Gambrevault.  The  main  body 
would  follow  at  a  distance  and  lie  ambushed  in  the  woods. 
If  the  ruse  answered,  and  it  was  an  old  trick  enough,  the 
barbican  and  gate  could  be  held  till  Fulviac  came  up  and 
made  matters  sure.  Thus  Avalon  would  fall,  proto-martyr 
on  the  side  of  feudalism. 

Nor  were  Fulviac's  prognostications  at  fault.  There 
were  not  sixty  men  in  Avalon,  and  Fulviac's  fifty  gained 
footing  in  the  place  and  held  their  ground  till  the  rest 
came  up.  The  affair  was  over,  save  for  some  desultory 
slaughter  on  the  turrets,  when  Fulviac  galloped  forward 
over  the  meadows  with  Yeoland  and  her  guard.  The 
man  kept  the  girl  on  the  further  side  of  the  moat,  and 


l8O  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

did  not  suffer  her  to  stumble  too  suddenly  on  the  realities 
of  war.  He  feared  wisely  her  woman's  nature,  and  did 
not  desire  to  overshock  her  senses.  The  butchery  was 
over  when  they  neared  the  walls.  They  heard  certain 
promiscuous  yelpings,  and  saw  half  a  dozen  men-at-arms, 
who  had  made  a  last  stand  on  a  tower,  tumbled  headlong; 

O 

over  the  battlements  into  the  moat  below.  Fulviac  did 
not  suffer  the  girl  to  cross  the  bridge.  What  passed 
within  was  hidden  by  the  impenetrable  massiveness  of  the 
sullen  walls. 

Thus  Avalon,  fair  castle  of  the  woods  and  waters,  sent 
out  her  wistful  prophecy  to  the  land.  In  her  towers  and 
galleries  men  lay  dead,  bleak  and  stiff,  contorted  into 
fantastic  attitudes,  with  pike  or  sword  sucking  their  vitals. 
Blood  crept  down  the  stairs ;  dead  men  cumbered  the  beds 
and  jammed  the  doors.  There  had  been  much  screaming 
among  the  women  ;  even  Fulviac's  orders  could  not  cool 
the  passions  of  the  mob ;  it  was  well  indeed  that  he  kept 
Yeoland  innocent  in  the  meadows. 

Fanaticism,  ignorance,  lust  were  loose  in  Avalon  like 
evil  beasts.  All  its  fairness  was  defamed  in  one  short 
hour.  Hangings  were  torn  down,  furniture  wrecked  and 
shattered,  chests  and  cupboards  spoiled  of  all  their 
store.  In  the  chapel,  where  refugees  had  fled  to  the 
altar,  there  had  been  slaughter,  merciless  and  brutal. 
Bertrand,  the  old  knight  and  seneschal,  lay  dead  on  the 
altar  steps,  with  a  broken  sword  and  fifty  rents  in  his 
carcase.  Men  were  breaking  the  images,  defacing  the 
frescoes,  strewing  all  the  place  with  blood  and  riot.  Nord 
of  the  Hammer  stood  over  the  cellar  door  with  his  great 
mace  over  his  shoulder,  and  kept  the  men  from  the  wine. 
Elsewhere  the  mob  rooted  like  a  herd  of  swine  in  the 
rich  chambers,  and  worked  to  the  uttermost  its  swinish 
will. 

When  the  day  was  past,  Fulviac  and  his  men,  as  hounds 
that  have  tasted  blood,  marched  on  exultantly  towards 
Geraint.  Night  and  great  silence  settled  down  over 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  JRUINS  l8l 

Avalon.  The  woods  watched  like  a  host  of  plaintive 
mourners  over  the  scene.  The  moon  rose  and  shone  on 
the  glimmering  mere  and  swooning  lilies,  and  streamed  in 
through  shattered  casements  on  men  sleeping  in  their 
blood,  on  ruin,  and  the  ghastly  shape  of  death. 


XXVII 

GILDEROY  had  risen. 

It  was  midnight.  A  great  bell  boomed  and  clashed  over 
the  city,  with  a  roar  of  many  voices  floating  on  the  wind, 
like  the  sullen  thunder  of  a  rising  sea.  Torches  flashed 
and  ebbed  along  the  streets,  with  hundreds  of  scampering 
shadows,  and  a  glinting  of  steel.  Knots  of  armed  men  hur- 
ried towards  the  great  piazza,  where,  by  the  City  Cross, 
Sforza  the  Gonfaloniere  and  his  senators  had  gathered 
about  the  red  and  white  Gonfalon  of  the  Commune.  All 
the  Guild  companies  were  there  with  their  banners  and 
men-at-arms.  "  Fulviac,"  "  Saint  Yeoland,"  "  Liberty 
and  the  Commune  "  :  such  were  the  watchwords  that  filled 
the  mouths  of  the  mob. 

Cressets  had  burst  into  flame  on  the  castle's  towers, 
lighting  a  lurid  firmament ;  while  from  the  steeps  of  the 
city,  where  stood  the  palaces  of  the  nobles,  smoke  and 
flame  began  to  rush  ominously  into  the  night.  Waves  of 
hoarse  ululations  seemed  to  sweep  the  city  from  north, 
south,  east,  and  west.  Trumpets  were  clanging  in  the 
castle,  drums  beating,  fifes  braying.  Through  the  inde- 
scribable chaos  the  great  bell  smote  on,  throbbing  through 
the  minutes  like  the  heart  of  a  god. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  Lord  Flavian  was  in 
Gilderoy  for  the  purchasing  of  arms.  At  midnight  you 
would  have  found  him  in  his  state  bed-chamber  in  the 
abbot's  palace,  tugging  at  his  hose,  fumbling  at  his  points 
and  doublet,  buckling  on  his  sword.  He  was  hardly  awake 
with  the  single  taper  winking  in  the  gloom.  The  shrill 
ululations  of  the  mob  sounded  through  the  house,  with  the 

182 


LOVE  AMONG  THE  RUINS  183 

clash  of  swords  and  the  crash  of  hammers.  The  Lord 
Flavian  craned  from  the  window,  saw  what  he  could,  heard 
much,  and  wondered  if  hell  had  broken  loose. 

"  Fulviac  and  the  Commune  !  " 

"  Saint  Yeoland  !  " 

"  Down  with  the  lords,  down  with  the  priests  !  " 

The  man  at  the  window  heard  these  cries,  and  puzzled 
them  out  in  his  peril.  Certainly  he  was  a  lord ;  therefore 
unpopular.  And  Yeoland !  Wherefore  was  that  name 
sounding  on  the  tongues  of  brothel-mongers  and  cooks  ! 
Was  he  still  dreaming  ?  Certes,  these  rallying-cries  car- 
ried a  certain  blunt  hint,  advising  him  that  he  would  have 
to  care  for  his  own  skin. 

Malise,  his  page,  knelt  at  the  door  with  his  ear  to  the 
key-hole.  The  boy  was  in  his  shirt  and  breeches,  and 
trembling  like  an  aspen.  Flavian  stood  over  him.  They 
heard  a  rending  sound  as  of  a  gate  giving,  a  roar  as  of 
water  breaking  through  a  dam,  a  yelp,  a  scream  or  two,  a 
confused  medley  of  many  voices. 

Flavian  told  Malise  to  open  the  door  and  look  out  into 
the  gallery.  He  did  so.  A  man,  more  zealous  than  the 
rest,  sprang  out  of  the  dark  and  stabbed  at  the  lad's 
throat.  He  fell  with  a  whimper.  Flavian  plunged  his 
sword  home,  dragged  Malise  within,  barred  the  door  again. 
Very  tenderly  he  lifted  the  boy  in  his  arms.  Malise's 
hands  clung  about  his  lord's  neck ;  he  moaned  a  little,  and 
was  very  white. 

"  Save  yourself,  messire  !  " 

Flavian  bore  him  towards  a  door  that  stood  open  in 
the  panelling.  He  felt  the  lad's  blood  soaking  through 
his  doublet ;  entreaties  were  poured  into  his  ears. 

u  I  die,  I  die ;  oh,  the  smart,  the  burn  of  it !  Leave 
me,  messire  j  let  me  lie  still !  " 

"  Nonsense " 

"  It  is  no  use ;  I  have  it  deep,  the  man's  knife  went 
home." 

Flavian  felt  the  lad's  hands  relax,  saw  his  head  droop 


1 84  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

on  his  shoulder.  He  turned  and  put  him  down  on  the 
bed,  and  knelt  there,  while  Malise  panted  and  strove  to 
speak. 

"  Go  —  messire." 

Flavian  was  trying  to  staunch  the  flow  from  the  boy's 
neck  with  a  corner  of  the  sheeting.  His  own  doublet  was 
drenched  with  blood.  In  a  minute  he  saw  the  futility 
of  such  unconscious  heroism ;  the  flickering  taper  by  the 
bed  told  that  Malise's  life  would  ebb  before  its  own  light 
would  be  gutted.  Blows  were  being  dealt  upon  the  door. 
Flavian  kissed  the  lad,  took  the  taper,  and  passed  out  by  the 
panel  in  the  wainscotting. 

A  stairway  led  him  to  a  little  gate  that  opened  on  the 
abbot's  garden.  He  more  than  thought  to  find  the  passage 
disputed,  but  the  place  stretched  quiet  before  him  as  he 
came  out  with  sword  drawn.  The  scent  of  the  flowers 
and  fragrant  shrubs  was  heavy  on  the  night  air,  and  the 
shouts  of  the  mob  sounded  over  the  black  roofs,  and  rang 
in  his  ears  with  an  inspiriting  fury. 

There  was  a  gate  at  the  far  end  of  the  garden,  opening 
through  a  stone  wall  into  a  narrow  alley,  and  Flavian,  as 
he  scoured  the  paths,  could  see  pike  points  bobbing 
above  the  wall,  and  a  flare  of  torches.  Men  were  break- 
ing in  even  here,  and  he  was  caught  like  a  rat  in  a 
corner.  In  an  angle  of  the  wall  he  found  a  big  mar- 
row bed,  and  crawling  under  the  leaves  like  a  worm,  he 
smeared  dirt  over  his  face  and  clothes  and  awaited 
developments.  In  another  minute  the  garden  gate  fell 
away,  and  a  tatterdemalion  rout  poured  in,  strenuous 
and  frothy  as  any  tavern  pack.  They  spread  over  the 
garden  towards  the  house,  shouting  and  blaspheming 
like  a  herd  of  satyrs.  Flavian  saw  his  chance,  plunged 
from  his  dark  corner,  and  joined  the  mob  of  moving 
figures.  Dirty  face  and  dirtier  clothes  were  in  kindred 
keeping.  He  shouted  as  lustily  as  any,  and  by  dint  of 
gradual  and  discreet  circumlocutions,  edged  to  the  gate 
and  escaped  into  the  now-deserted  alley. 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  185 

Running  on,  he  skirted  the  abbey  and  came  out  into 
the  square  that  flanked  the  abbey  church,  and  the  great 
gate.  A  hundred  torches  seemed  moving  behind  the 
abbey  windows.  The  square  teemed  and  smoked  with 
riot.  Flavian  went  into  the  crowd  with  drawn  sword, 
screeching  out  mob  cries  like  any  huckster,  smiting  men 
on  the  back,  laughing  and  swearing  as  in  excellent 
humour.  His  gusto  saved  him.  As  he  passed  through 
the  mob  he  saw  heads,  gory  and  mangled,  dancing  upon 
pikes ;  he  saw  women  drunk  with  beer  and  violence, 
waving  a  severed  foot  or  hand,  kissing  men,  hugging 
each  other,  mouthing  unutterable  obscenities  in  the  mad 
delirium  of  the  hour.  He  saw  whelps  of  boys  scrambling 
and  struggling  for  some  ghastly  relic ;  scavengers  and 
sweeps  dressed  up  in  the  habits  of  the  Benedictines  they 
had  slain.  One  man  carried  in  his  palm  an  eye  that  had 
been  torn  from  its  socket,  which  he  held  with  a  leer  in 
the  faces  of  his  fellows.  Further  still,  he  saw  half  a  dozen 
beggars  dragging  the  dead  body  of  a  lady  over  the  stones 
by  cords  fastened  to  the  ankles,  while  dogs  worried  and 
tore  at  the  flesh.  He  learnt  afterwards  that  it  was  the 
body  of  his  own  cousin,  a  young  girl  who  had  been 
lately  betrothed.  Last  of  all,  he  s..vv  a  carcase  dangling 
from  a  great  iron  lamp  bracket  in  the  centre  of  the 
square,  and  understood  from  the  crowd  that  it  was  the 
body  of  the  abbot,  his  uncle.  Men  and  women  were  pelt- 
ing it  with,  offal. 

And  he,  an  aristocrat  of  aristocrats,  dirty  and  dishevelled, 
rubbed  shoulders  with  the  scourings  of  the  gutter,  shouted 
their  shouts,  echoed  their  exultation.  At  first  the  grim 
humour  of  the  thing  smote  him  in  grosser  farcical  fashion  ; 
but  the  mood  was  not  for  long.  He  remembered  Malise, 
whimpering  and  quivering  in  his  arms;  he  remembered  the 
body  dragged  about  the  square  and  worried  by  dogs ;  he 
remembered  the  carcase  swinging  by  the  rope ;  he  remem- 
bered the  dripping  heads  and  the  fragments  of  flesh  tossed 
about  by  the  maddened  and  intoxicated  mob.  It  was  then 


1 86  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

that  his  eyes  grew  hot  with  shame  and  his  blood  ran  like 
lava  through  his  veins.  It  was  then  that  the  spirit  of  a 
vampire  rushed  into  his  heart,  and  that  he  swore  great 
solemn  oaths  by  all  the  bones  and  relics  of  the  saints.  God 
give  him  a  hale  body  out  of  Gilderoy,  and  this  city  scum 
should  be  scourged  with  iron  and  roasted  by  fire. 

He  got  across  the  square  by  dint  of  his  noisy  hypocrisy, 
and  turned  morosely  into  a  dark  alley  that  led  towards  the 
walls.  Hot-hearted  gentleman,  the  mere  panic-stricken 
thirst  for  existence  had  cooled  out  of  him,  and  he  was  in  a 
fine,  rendering  passion  to  his  finger-tips,  a  striding,  blas- 
phemous temper,  that  longed  to  take  the  whole  city  by  the 
throat  and  beat  a  fist  in  its  bloated  face.  He  wondered 
what  had  become  of  his  knights,  esquires,  and  men-at-arms. 
It  was  told  him  in  later  days  how  they  died  fighting  in  the 
abbey  refectory,  died  with  the  Benedictines  at  their  side, 
and  a  rare  barrier  of  corpses  to  tell  of  the  swing  of  their 
swords. 

Flavian  dodged  into  a  dark  porch  to  consider  his  cir- 
cumstances and  the  baffling  influence  of  the  same.  He 
had  caught  enough  from  the  mob  to  comprehend  what  had 
occurred,  and  what  was  to  follow.  Certainly  for  many 
months  he  had  heard  rumours,  but,  like  other  demigods,  he 
had  turned  a  deaf  ear  and  smiled  like  a  Saturn.  The  large- 
ness of  the  upheaval  stupefied  him  at  first;  now,  as  he 
pondered  it,  it  gave  a  more  heroic  colour  to  his  passions. 

To  be  free  of  Gilderoy :  that  was  the  necessity.  He 
guessed  shrewdly  enough  that  the  gates  would  be  well 
guarded.  And  the  walls  !  He  smote  his  thigh  and  re- 
membered where  the  river  coursed  round  the  rocky  foun- 
dations, and  washed  the  walls.  A  big  plunge,  a  swim,  and 
he  would  have  liberty  enough  and  to  spare. 

He  set  off  instanter  down  alleys  and  byways,  through  the 
most  poverty-stricken  quarter  of  the  city.  The  place  had 
a  hundred  stenches  on  a  hot  summer  night.  Naturally 
enough,  such  haunts  were  deserted,  save  for  a  few  hags 
garrulous  at  the  doorways,  and  a  few  fragments  of  dirt, 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  KUINS  187 

called  by  courtesy,  children.  The  rats  had  gone  maraud- 
ing, leaving  their  offal  heaps  empty. 

Keen  as  a  fox,  he  threaded  on,  and  came  before  long  to 
the  walls,  a  black  mass,  rising  above  the  hovels  packed  like 
pigsties  to  the  very  ramparts.  Avoiding  a  tower,  he  held 
along  a  lane  that  skirted  the  wall,  looking  for  one  of  the 
many  stairways  leading  to  the  battlements.  It  was  here,  in 
the  light  of  a  tavern  window,  that  he  came  plump  upon  two 
sweaty  artisans,  rendered  somewhat  more  gross  and  insolent 
by  the  fumes  of  liquor.  The  men  challenged  Flavian  with 
drunken  arrogance ;  they  had  their  password,  to  the  devil. 
All  the  accumulated  viciousness  of  an  hour  tingled  in  his 
sword  arm.  He  fell  upon  the  men  like  a  Barak,  kicked 
one  carcase  into  the  gutter,  and  ran  on. 

He  was  soon  up  a  stairway,  and  on  the  walls,  finding 
them  absolutely  deserted.  The  city  stretched  behind  him, 
a  black  chaos,  emitting  a  grim  uproar,  its  dark  slopes 
chequered  here  and  there  with  angry  flame.  Before  him 
swept  the  river,  and  he  heard  it  swirling  amid  the  reeds. 
Further  still,  meadows  lay  open  to  the  stars,  and  in  the 
distance  stood  solemn  woods  and  heights,  touched  with  the 
silver  of  the  sky. 

He  moved  on  to  where  a  loop  of  the  river  curled  up  to 
wash  the  walls.  The  water  was  in  full  flood  at  the  place, 
and  he  heard  it  gurgling  cheerily  against  the  stones. 
Flavian  took  a  last  look  at  Gilderoy,  its  castle  red  with 
burning  cressets,  its  multitudinous  roofs,  its  uproar  like  the 
noise  of  a  nest  of  hornets.  He  shook  his  fist  over  the 
city,  climbed  the  battlements,  jumped  for  it,  plunged  like  a 
log,  came  up  spluttering  to  strike  out  for  the  further  bank. 

In  the  meadows  the  townsfolk  kept  horses  at  graze. 
Flavian,  aglow  to  the  finger-tips,  with  water  squelching 
from  his  shoes,  caught  a  cob  that  was  hobbled  in  a  field 
hard  by  the  river.  He  unhobbled  the  beast,  hung  on  by 
the  mane,  mounted,  and  set  off  bare-back  for  the  road  to 
Gambrevault. 


XXVIII 

DAWN  climbing  red  over  pinewoods  piled  on  the  hills ; 
dawn  optimistic  yet  ominous,  harbinger  of  war  and  such 
perils  as  set  the  heart  leaping  and  the  blood  afire ;  dawn 
that  cried  unto  the  world,  "  Better  one  burst  of  heroism 
and  then  the  grave,  than  a  miserable  monotony  of  nothing- 
ness, a  domestic  surfeiting  of  the  senses  with  a  wife  and  a 
fat  larder." 

Out  of  the  east  climbed  the  man  on  the  stolen  horse, 
riding  out  of  the  dawn  with  the  lurid  phantasms  of  the 
night  still  running  riot  in  his  brain.  No  sleep  had 
smoothed  the  crumpled  page,  or  touched  the  memory  with 
unguent  to  assuage  the  smart.  Maledictions,  vengeances, 
prophecies  of  fire  and  sword  rushed  with  the  red  dawn  over 
the  hills. 

With  forty  miles  behind  him,  he  came  on  his  jaded, 
sweaty  beast  towards  his  own  castle  of  Gambrevault, 
forded  his  own  stream,  saw  his  mills  gushing  foam,  heard 
the  thunder  of  the  weir.  How  eternally  peaceful  every- 
thing seemed  in  the  dewy  amber  light  of  the  dawn ! 
Away  rolled  the  downs,  billows  of  glorious  green,  into  the 
west.  Gambrevault's  towers  rose  against  the  blue ;  he 
saw  the  camp  in  the  meadows ;  his  own  banner  blowing  to 
the  breeze. 

The  meadows  that  morning  were  quiet  as  a  graveyard, 
as  the  Lord  Flavian  rode  through  to  the  great  gate  of 
Gambrevault.  Soldiers  idling  about,  stiffened  up,  saluted, 
stared  in  astonishment  at  the  grim,  morose-faced  man,  who 
rode  by  on  a  foundered  horse,  looking  neither  to  the  right 
hand  nor  the  left.  He  cut  something  of  a  figure,  as  though 

188 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  189 

he  had  been  in  a  tavern  brawl,  and  had  spent  the  night 
snoring  in  a  cow-house.  Yet  there  was  an  indescribable 
power  and  dignity  in  the  tatterdemalion  rider  for  all  his 
tumbled  look.  The  compressed  lips,  knotted  brow, 
smouldering  eyes  spoke  of  phenomenal  emotions,  phenom- 
enal passions.  Not  a  man  cheered,  and  the  silence  was 
yet  more  eloquent  than  clamour.  He  rode  in  by  the  great 
gate,  and  parrying  the  blank  glances  and  interrogations  of  his 
knights,  called  for  two  esquires,  and  withdrew  to  his  own 
state  rooms. 

His  first  trouble  was  to  acknowledge  such  necessities 
as  hunger  and  cleanliness.  He  contrived  to  compass  both 
at  once,  eating  ravenously  even  while  he  was  in  the  bath. 
His  next  command  was  for  his  harness,  and  his  esquires 
armed  him,  agog  for  news,  even  waxing  inquisitive,  to  be 
snubbed  for  their  pains. 

"  Assemble  my  knights  and  gentlemen  in  the  great  hall," 
ran  his  order,  and  after  praying  awhile  in  his  own  private 
oratory,  he  passed  down  to  join  the  assemblage,  solemn 
and  soul-burdened  as  a  young  Jove. 

There  is  a  certain  vain  satisfaction  in  being  the  possessor 
of  some  phenomenal  piece  of  news,  wherewith  to  astonish 
a  circle  of  friends.  The  dramatic  person  blurts  it  out  like 
a  stage  duke;  the  real  epicure  lets  it  filter  through  his 
teeth  in  fragments,  watching  with  a  twinkling  satisfaction 
its  effect  upon  his  hearers.  The  Lord  Flavian's  revelations 
that  morning  were  deliberate  and  gradual,  leisurely  in  the 
extreme.  Many  a  man  waxes  flippant  or  cynical  when  his 
feelings  are  deep  and  sincere,  and  he  is  disinclined  to  bare 
his  heart  to  the  world.  Flavian  addressed  his  assembled 
knights  with  a  certain  stinted  and  pedantic  courtliness ; 
when  they  had  warmed  to  his  level,  then  he  could  indulge 
his  sympathies  to  the  full.  The  atmosphere  about  those 
who  wait  to  hear  our  experiences  or  opinions  is  often  like 
cold  water,  somewhat  repellent  till  the  first  plunge  has  been 
tried. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he   said,  "  I   regret  to  inform  you  that 


190  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

the  Abbot  Porphyry,  my  uncle,  is  numbered  with  the 
saints." 

So  much  for  the  first  confession ;  it  elicited  a  sympa- 
thetic murmur  from  those  assembled,  a  very  proper  and 
respectable  expression  of  feeling,  but  nothing  passionate. 

11 1  also  have  to  inform  you,  with  much  Christian  resig- 
nation, that  Sir  Jordan  and  Sir  Kay,  Malise,  my  page,  and 
some  twenty  men-at-arms  are  in  all  human  probability 
dead." 

This  time  some  glimmer  of  light  pervaded  the  hall. 
There  was  still  mystification,  silence,  and  an  exchanging 
of  glances. 

"  Finally,  gentlemen,  I  may  confess  to  you  that  a  great 
insurrection  is  afoot  in  the  land ;  that  Gilderoy  has  de- 
clared against  the  King  and  the  nobility ;  that  the  scum 
of  a  populace  has  made  a  great  massacre  of  the  magnates ; 
that  I,  gentlemen,  by  the  grace  of  God,  have  escaped  to 
preach  to  you  of  these  things." 

A  chorus  of  grim  ejaculations  came  from  the  knights 
and  the  captains  assembled.  Astonishment,  and  emotions 
more  durable,  showed  on  every  face.  Flavian  gained  heat, 
and  let  his  tongue  have  liberty  -,  at  the  end  of  ten  minutes 
of  fervid  oratory,  the  men  were  as  wise  as  their  lord  and 
every  wit  as  vicious.  Gilderoy  had  signalised  her  rising 
in  blood ;  mob  rule  had  been  proclaimed ;  the  peasantry 
and  townsfolk  had  thrown  down  the  glove  to  the  nobles. 
These  were  bleak,  plain  facts,  that  touched  to  the  quick 
the  men  who  stood  gathered  in  the  great  hall  of  Gambre- 
vault.  Not  a  sword  was  in  its  scabbard  when  Modred's 
deep  voice  gave  the  cry  — 

"  God  and  St.  Philip  —  for  the  King." 

Then  like  a  powder  bag  flung  into  a  fire  came  the  news 
of  the  storming  and  wrecking  of  Avalon.  A  single  man- 
at-arms  had  escaped  the  slaughter,  escaped  by  crawling  down 
an  offal  shoot  and  hiding  till  the  rebels  evacuated  the  place 
and  marched  under  cover  of  night  for  Geraint.  The  man 
had  crept  out  and  fled  on  foot  from  the  stricken  place  for 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  191 

Gambrevault.  It  was  a  tramp  of  ten  leagues,  but  he  had 
stuck  to  it  through  the  night  like  a  Trojan,  and,  knowing 
the  road  well,  had  reached  Gambrevault  before  the  sun  was 
at  noon.  They  brought  him  before  Flavian  and  the  rest, 
fagged  to  the  fifth  toe,  and  hardly  able  to  stand.  He  told 
the  whole  tale,  as  much  as  he  knew  of  it,  in  a  blunt  yet 
dazed  way.  His  senses  appeared  numbed  by  the  deeds  that 
had  been  done  that  night. 

Flavian  leant  back  in  his  escutcheoned  chair,  and  gnawed 
at  his  lip.  This  last  thrust  had  gone  home  more  keenly 
than  the  rest.  That  castle  of  lilies,  Avalon  the  fair,  was 
but  a  friend  of  wood  and  stone,  yet  a  friend  having  won- 
drous hold  upon  his  heart.  He  had  been  born  there,  and 
under  the  shadows  of  its  towers  his  mother  had  taken  her 
last  sacrament.  Men  can  love  a  tree,  a  cottage,  a  stream ; 
Flavian  loved  Avalon  as  being  the  temple  of  the  unutterable 
memories  of  the  past.  Desolation  and  ruin  !  Bertrand,  his 
old  master  at  arms,  slain  !  He  sprang  up  like  an  Achilles 
with  the  ghost  of  Patroclus  haunting  his  soul. 

"  Gentlemen,  shall  these  things  pass  ?  Hear  me,  God 
and  the  world,  hear  my  oath  sworn  in  this  my  castle  of 
Gambrevault.  May  I  never  rest  till  these  things  are 
reprieved  in  blood,  till  there  are  too  few  men  to  bury  the 
dead.  Though  my  walls  fall,  and  my  towers  totter,  though 
I  win  ruin  and  a  grave,  I  swear  by  the  Sacrament  to  do  such 
deeds  as  shall  ring  and  resound  in  history." 

So  they  went  all  of  them  together,  and  swore  by  the 
body  and  blood  of  the  Lord  to  take  such  vengeance  as 
the  sword  alone  can  give  to  the  hot  passions  of  mankind. 

That  noon  there  was  much  stir  and  life  in  Gambrevault. 
The  camp  hummed  like  a  wasp's  nest  when  violence 
threatens ;  the  men  were  ready  to  run  to  arms  on  the 
first  sounding  of  the  trumpet.  Armourers  and  farriers 
were  at  work.  Flavian  had  sent  out  two  companies  of 
light  horse  to  reconnoitre  towards  Gilderoy  and  Geraint. 
They  had  orders  not  to  draw  rein  till  they  had  sure  view 
of  such  rebel  voices  as  were  on  the  march  j  to  hang  on  the 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

horizon ;  to  watch  and  follow  ;  to  send  gallopers  to  Gam- 
brevault ;  on  no  account  to  give  battle.  Companies  were 
despatched  to  drive  in  the  cattle  from  the  hills,  and  to 
bring  in  fodder.  The  Gambrevault  mills  were  emptied  of 
flour,  and  burnt  to  the  ground,  in  view  of  their  being  of 
use  to  the  rebels  in  case  of  a  siege.  Certain  cottages  and 
outhouses  under  the  castle  walls  were  demolished  to  leave 
no  cover  for  an  attacking  force.  The  cats,  tribocs,  cata- 
pults, and  bombards  upon  the  battlements  were  overhauled, 
and  cleared  for  a  siege. 

Towards  evening,  human  wreckage  began  to  drift  in 
from  the  country,  bearing  lamentable  witness  to  the  thor- 
oughness of  Fulviac's  incendiarism.  Gambrevault  might 
have  stood  for  heaven  by  the  strange  scattering  of  folk  who 
came  to  seek  its  sanctuary.  Fire  and  sword  were  abroad 
with  a  vengeance ;  cottars,  borderers,  and  villains  had  risen 
in  the  night ;  treachery  had  drawn  its  poniard ;  even  the 
hound  had  snapped  at  its  master's  hand. 

Many  pathetic  figures  passed  under  the  great  arch  of 
Gambrevault  gate  that  day.  First  a  knight  came  in  on 
horseback,  a  baby  in  his  arms,  and  a  woman  clinging 
behind  him,  sole  relics  of  a  home.  Margaret,  the  grey- 
haired  countess  of  St.  Anne's,  was  brought  in  on  a  litter 
by  a  few  faithful  men-at-arms ;  her  husband  and  her  two 
sons  were  dead.  Young  Prosper  of  Fountains  came  in  on 
a  pony ;  the  lad  wept  like  a  girl  when  questioned,  and  told 
of  a  mother  and  a  sire  butchered,  a  home  sacked  and  burnt. 
There  were  stern  faces  in  Gambrevault  that  day,  and  looks 
more  eloquent  than  words.  "  Verily,"  said  Flavian  to 
Modred  the  Strong,  "  we  shall  have  need  of  our  swords, 
and  God  grant  that  we  use  them  to  good  purpose." 

So  night  drew  near,  and  still  no  riders  had  come  from 
the  companies  that  had  ridden  out  to  reconnoitre  towards 
Gilderoy  and  Geraint.  Flavian  had  had  a  hundred  duties  on 
his  hands  :  exercising  his  courtesy  to  the  refugees,  condoling, 
reassuring ;  inspecting  the  defences  and  the  siege  train ; 
superintending  the  victualling  of  the  place.  He  had 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  193 

ordered  his  troops  under  arms  in  the  meadows,  and  had 
spoken  to  them  of  what  had  passed  at  Gilderoy,  and  what 
might  be  looked  for  in  the  future.  There  seemed  no  lack 
of  loyalty  on  their  part.  Flavian  had  ever  been  a  magnani- 
mous and  a  generous  overlord,  glad  to  be  merciful,  and 
no  libertine  at  the  expense  of  his  underlings.  His  feuda- 
tories were  bound  to  him  by  ties  more  strong  than  mere 
legalities.  They  cheered  him  loudly  enough  as  he  rode 
along  the  lines  in  full  armour,  with  fifty  knights  following 
as  his  guard. 

Night  came.  Outposts  had  been  pushed  forward  to  the 
woods,  and  a  strong  picket  held  the  ford  across  the  river. 
On  the  battlements  guards  went  to  and  fro,  and  clarions 
parcelled  out  the  night,  and  rang  the  changes.  In  the  east 
there  was  a  faint  yellowish  light  in  the  sky,  a  distant  glare 
as  of  a  fire  many  miles  away.  In  the  camp  men  were 
ready  to  fly  to  arms  at  the  first  thunder  of  war  over  the 
hills. 

Flavian  held  a  council  in  the  great  hall,  a  council  at- 
tended by  all  his  knights  and  captains.  They  had  a  great 
map  spread  upon  the  table,  a  chart  of  the  demesnes  of 
Gambrevault  and  Avalon,  and  the  surrounding  country. 
Their  conjectures  turned  on  the  possible  intentions  of  the 
rebels,  whether  they  would  venture  on  a  campaign  in  the 
open,  or  lie  snug  within  walls  and  indulge  in  raids  and 
forays.  And  then  —  as  to  the  loyalty  of  their  own  troops  ? 
On  this  point  Flavian  was  dogmatic,  having  a  generous 
and  over-boyish  heart,  not  quick  to  credit  others  with 
treachery. 

"  I  would  take  oath  for  my  own  men,"  he  said ;  "  their 
fathers  have  served  my  fathers ;  I  have  never  played  the 
tyrant ;  there  is  every  reason  to  trust  their  loyalty." 

An  old  knight,  Sir  Tristram,  had  taken  a  goodly  share  in 
the  debate,  a  veteran  from  the  barons'  wars,  and  a  man  of 
honest  experience,  no  mere  pantaloon.  His  grey  beard 
swept  down  upon  his  cuirass ;  his  deep-set  eyes  were  full 
of  intelligence  under  his  bushy  brows ;  the  hands  that 


IQ4  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUIN'S 

were  laid  upon  the  table  were  clawed  and  deformed  b) 
gout. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  I  have  not  the  fitness  and 
youth  of  many  of  you,  but  I  can  lay  claim  to  some  wis- 
dom in  war.  To  my  liege  lord,  whom,  sirs,  I  honour  as  a 
man  of  soul,  I  would  address  two  proverbs.  First,  despise 
not,  sire,  your  enemies." 

Modred  laughed  in  his  black  beard. 

"  Reverence  the  scum  of  Gilderoy  ?  " 

"  Ha,  man,  if  we  are  well  advised,  these  folk  have  been 
breathed  upon  by  fanaticism.  I  tell  you,  I  have  seen  a 
meanly-born  crowd  make  a  very  stubborn  day  of  it  with 
some  of  the  best  troops  that  ever  saw  service.  Secondly, 
sire,  I  would  say  to  you,  turn  off"  your  mercenaries  if  the 
sky  looks  black ;  never  trust  your  neck  to  paid  men  when 
any  great  peril  threatens." 

Flavian,  out  of  his  good  sense,  agreed  with  Tristram. 

"  Your  words  are  weighty,"  he  said.  "  So  long  as  we  are 
campaigning,  I  will  pay  them  well  and  keep  them.  If 
it  comes  to  a  siege,  I  will  have  no  hired  bravos  in  Gam- 
brevault.  And  now,  gentlemen,  it  is  late ;  get  what  sleep 
you  may,  for  who  knows  what  may  come  with  the  morrow. 
Modred  and  Geoffrey,  I  leave  to  you  the  visiting  of  the  out- 
posts to-night.  Order  up  my  lutists  and  flute-players ;  I 
shall  not  sleep  without  a  song." 

He  passed  alone  to  the  outer  battlements,  and  let  the 
night  expand  about  his  soul,  the  stars  touch  his  medita- 
tions. From  the  minstrels'  gallery  in  the  hall  came  the 
wail  of  viols,  the  voices  of  flute,  dulcimer  and  bassoon 
keeping  a  mellow  under-chant.  He  heard  the  sea  upon 
the  rocks,  saw  it  glimmering  dimly  to  end  in  a  fringe  of 
foam. 

So  his  thoughts  soared  to  the  face  of  one  woman  in  the 
world,  the  golden  Eve  peering  out  of  Paradise,  whose 
soul  seemed  to  ebb  and  flow  like  the  moan  of  the  distant 
music.  He  fell  into  deep  forecastings  of  the  future. 
He  remembered  her  words  to  him,  her  mysterious  warn- 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  195 

ings,  her  inexplicable  inconsistencies,  her  appeal  to  war. 
Gilderoy  had  taught  him  much,  and  some  measure  of 
truth  shone  like  a  dawn  spear  in  the  east.  A  gulf  of 
war  and  vengeance  stretched  from  his  feet.  Yet  he  let 
his  soul  circle  like  a  golden  moth  about  the  woman's 
beauty,  while  the  wail  of  the  viols  stole  out  upon  his 
ears. 


XXIX 

LITTLE  store  of  sleep  had  the  Lord  of  Gambrevault  that 
night.  War  with  all  its  echoing  prophecies  played  through 
his  thought  as  a  storm  wind  through  the  rotting  casements 
of  a  ruin.  He  beheld  the  high  hills  red  with  beacons,  the 
valleys  filled  with  the  surging  steel  of  battle.  Gilderoy 
and  its  terrors  flamed  through  his  brain.  Above  all,  like 
the  moon  from  a  cloud  shone  the  face  of  Yeoland,  the 
Madonna  of  the  Forest. 

He  was  up  and  armed  before  dawn,  and  on  the  topmost 
battlements,  eager  for  the  day.  The  sun  came  with 
splendour  out  of  the  east,  hurling  a  golden  net  over  the 
woods  piled  upon  the  hills.  Mists  moved  from  off  the 
sea,  that  shimmered  opalescent  towards  the  dawn.  Brine 
laded  the  breeze.  The  waves  were  scalloped  amber  and 
purple,  fringed  with  foam  about  the  agate  cliffs. 

The  hours  were  void  to  the  man  till  riders  should  come 
in  with  tidings  of  how  the  revolt  sped  at  Gilderoy  and 
Geraint.  The  prophetic  hints  that  had  been  tossed  to 
him  from  the  tongues  of  the  mob  had  served  to  discover 
to  him  his  own  invidious  fame.  Gambrevault,  on  its 
rocky  headland,  stood,  the  strongest  castle  in  the  south,  a 
black  mass  looming  athwart  the  perilous  path  of  war. 
The  rebels  would  smite  at  it.  Of  that  its  lord  was 
assured. 

At  noon  he  attended  mass  in  the  chapel,  with  all  his 
knights,  solacing  his  impatience  with  the  purer  aspirations 
of  the  soul.  It  was  even  as  he  left  the  chapel  that  Sir 
Modred  met  him,  telling  how  a  galloper  had  left  the 
woods  and  was  cantering  over  the  meadows  towards  the 

196 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  ig? 

headland.  The  man  was  soon  under  the  arch  of  the  great 
gate,  his  sweating  horse  smiting  fire  from  the  stones,  drop- 
ping foam  from  his  black  muzzle.  The  rider  was  Goda- 
mar,  Flavian's  favourite  esquire,  a  ruddy  youth,  with  the 
heart  of  a  Jonathan. 

Modred  brought  him  to  the  banqueting-hall,  where 
Flavian  awaited  him  in  full  harness,  two  trumpeters  at  his 
back. 

"  Sire,  Geraint  has  risen." 

«  Ha !  " 

"  They  are  marching  on  Gambrevault." 

"  Your  news,  on  with  it." 

Godamar  told  how  the  troop  had  neared  Geraint  at  eve 
and  camped  in  the  wood  over  night.  At  dawn  they  had 
reconnoitred  the  town,  and  seen,  to  their  credit,  black 
columns  of  "  foot "  pouring  out  by  all  the  gates.  The 
Gambrevault  company  had  fallen  back  upon  the  woods 
unseen,  and  had  watched  the  Gerainters  massing  in  the 
city  meadows  about  a  red  banner  and  one  in  armour  upori 
a  white  horse.  Godamar  had  lain  low  in  a  thicket  and 
watched  the  rebels  march  by  in  the  valley.  They  had 
passed  between  two  hundred  paces  of  him,  and  he  swore 
by  Roland  the  Paladin  that  it  was  a  woman  who  rode  the 
great  white  horse. 

Flavian  had  listened  to  the  man  with  a  golden  flux  of, 
fancy  that  had  divined  something  of  the  esquire's  meaning. 

"  Godamar,"  he  said. 

"  Sire  ?  " 

"  You  rode  with  me  that  day  when  we  tracked  a  certain 
lady  from  Cambremont  glade  towards  the  pine  forest." 

"  Sire,  you  forestall  me  in  thought." 

«  So  ?  " 

"  I  could  even  swear  upon  my  sword  that  it  is  Yeoland 
of  Cambremont  who  rides  with  the  Gerainters." 

Flavian  coloured  and  commended  him.  Godamar  ran 
on. 

"  I  threaded  the  thicket,  sire,  made  a  detour,  galloped 


198  LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS 

hard  and  rejoined  our  company.  The  Gerainters  were 
blind  as  bats ;  they  had  never  a  scout  to  serve  them.  We 
kept  under  cover  and  watched  their  march.  They  came 
due  west  in  three  columns,  one  following  the  other.  Six 
miles  from  Geraint,  Longsword  gave  me  a  spare  horse  and 
sent  me  spurring  to  bring  you  the  news." 

Flavian  stroked  his  chin  and  brooded. 

"  Their  numbers  ?  "  he  asked  anon. 

"  Ten  thousand  men,  sire,  we  guessed  it  such." 

Before  Godamar  had  ended  his  despatch,  a  second 
galloper  came  in  breathless  from  Gilderoy.  He  had  left 
Fulviac's  rebels  massing  in  the  meadows  beyond  the  river, 
and  had  kept  cover  long  enough  to  see  the  foremost 
column  wheel  westwards  and  take  the  road  for  Gambre- 
vault.  The  scout  numbered  the  Gilderoy  force  at  any- 
thing between  eight  and  twelve  thousand  pikes.  Fulviac 
had  been  on  the  march  three  hours. 

The  Lord  of  Avalon  stood  forward  in  the  oriel  in  the 
full  light  of  the  sun.  Sea,  hill,  and  woodland  stretched 
before  him  under  a  peerless  sky.  There  was  the  scent  of 
brine  in  the  breeze,  the  banner  of  youth  was  ablaze  upon 
the  hills.  A  red  heart  beat  under  his  shimmering  cuirass, 
red  blood  flushed  his  brain.  It  was  a  season  of  romance 
and  of  lusty  daring,  an  hour  when  his  manhood  shone 
bright  as  his  burnished  sword. 

Thoughts  were  tumbling,  moving  over  his  mind  like 
water  over  a  wheel.  Geraint  stood  ten  leagues  from 
Gambrevault,  Gilderoy  thirteen.  The  Geraint  forces  had 
been  on  the  march  six  hours  or  more,  the  men  of  Gilderoy 
only  three.  Hence,  by  all  the  craft  of  Araby,  they  of  Geraint 
were  three  hours  and  three  leagues  to  the  fore.  Bad 
generalship  without  doubt,  but  vastly  prophetic  to  the  man 
figuring  in  the  oriel,  his  fingers  drumming  on  the  stone 
sill. 

Strategy  stirred  in  him,  and  waxed  like  a  dragon  created 
from  some  magic  crystal  into  the  might  of  deeds.  The 
Lord  of  Gambrevault  caught  the  strong  smile  of  chivalry. 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  199 

A  great  venture  burnt  upon  his  sword.  It  was  no  un- 
certain voice  that  rang  through  the  hall  of  Gambrevault. 

"  Gentlemen,  to  horse  !  Trumpets,  blow  the  sally  !  Let 
every  man  who  can  ride,  mount  and  follow  me  to-day. 
Blow,  trumpets,  blow  !  " 

The  brazen  throats  brayed  from  the  walls,  their  shrill 
scream  echoing  and  echoing  amid  the  distant  hills.  Their 
message  was  like  the  plunging  of  a  boulder  into  a  pool, 
smiting  to  foam  and  clamour  the  camp  in  the  meadows. 
Swords  were  girded  on,  spears  plucked  from  the  sods, 
horses  saddled  and  bridled  in  grim  haste.  In  one  short, 
stirring  hour  Flavian  rode  out  from  Gambrevault  with 
twelve  hundred  steel-clad  riders  at  his  back.  Those  on 
the  walls  watched  this  mass  of  fire  and  colour  thunder- 
ing over  the  meadows,  splashing  through  the  ford,  smok- 
ing away  to  the  east  with  trumpets  clanging,  banneroles 
adance.  There  was  to  be  great  work  done  that  day. 
The  sentinels  on  the  walls  gossiped  together,  and  swore  by 
their  lord  as  he  had  been  the  King. 

Gambrevault  and  its  towers  sank  back  against  the  sky- 
line, its  banner  waving  heavily  above  the  keep.  Flavian's 
mass  of  knights  and  men-at-arms  held  over  the  eastern 
downs  that  rolled  greenly  above  the  black  cliffs  and  the 
blue  mosaics  of  the  sea.  A  brisk  breeze  laughed  in  their 
faces,  setting  plumes  nodding,  banneroles  and  pensils  aslant. 
Their  spears  rose  like  the  slim  masts  of  many  sloops  in  a 
harbour.  The  sun  shone,  the  green  woods  beckoned  to 
the  glittering  mass  with  its  forest  of  rolling  spears. 

Flavian's  pride  whimpered  as  he  rode  in  the  van  with 
Modred,  Godamar,  who  bore  the  banner  of  Gambrevault, 
and  Merlion  d'Or,  his  herald.  The  man  felt  like  a  Zeus 
with  a  thunderbolt  poised  in  his  hand.  A  word,  the  flash 
of  a  sword,  the  cry  of  a  trumpet,  and  all  this  splendid 
torrent  of  steel  would  leap  and  thunder  to  work  his  will. 
The  star  of  chivalry  shone  bright  in  the  heavens.  As 
for  this  woman  on  the  white  horse,  the  Madonna  of  the 
Pine  Forest,  God  and  the  saints,  he  would  charge  the 


2OO  LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS 

whole  world,  hell  and  its  legions,  to  win  so  rich  a 
prize. 

Turning  northwards,  with  scouts  scattered  in  the  far 
van,  they  drew  to  wilder  regions  where  the  dark  and  sat- 
urnine outposts  of  the  great  pine  forest  stood  solemn  upon 
the  hills.  Dusky  were  the  thickets  against  the  sapphire 
sky,  the  cloud  banners  trailing  in  the  breeze.  The  very 
valleys  breathed  of  battle  and  sudden  peril  of  the  sword. 
Rounding  a  wood,  they  saw  riders  flash  over  the  brow  of  a 
hill  and  come  towards  them  at  a  gallop.  The  men  drew 
rein  before  the  great  company  of  spears.  Their  leader 
saluted  his  lord,  and  glanced  round  grimly  upon  the  sea  of 
steel  dwindling  over  the  green  slopes. 

11  Sire,  we  are  well-fortuned." 

"  Say  on." 

"  Ten  thousand  rebels  from  Geraint  are  on  the  march 
two  miles  away.  Godamar  has  given  you  the  news.  We 
are  on  the  crest  of  the  wave." 

Flavian  tightened  his  baldric. 

"  Good  ground  to  the  east,  Longs  word  ?  " 

"  Excellent  for  '  horse,'  sire." 

"  To  our  advantage  ?  " 

"  Half  a  mile  further  towards  Geraint  there  lies  a  grass 
valley,  a  league  long,  four  furlongs  from  wood  to  wood. 
The  rebels  will  march  through  it,  or  I  am  a  dotard. 
There  stands  your  chance,  sire.  We  can  roll  down  on 
them  like  a  torrent." 

Flavian  took  time  by  the  throat,  and  called  on  his  man 
of  the  tabard. 

"  Make  me  this  proclamation,"  quoth  he  :  "  c  Gentlemen 
of  Gambrevault,  strike  for  King  and  chivalry.  Let 
vengeance  dye  your  swords.  As  for  the  lady  riding  upon 
the  white  horse,  mark  you,  sirs,  let  her  be  as  the  Virgin  out 
of  heaven.  We  ride  to  take  her  and  her  banner.  For 
the  rest,  no  quarter  and  no  prisoners.  We  will  teach  this 
mob  the  art  of  war.'  " 

The  man  of  the  tabard  proclaimed  it  as  he  was  bidden. 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  201 

The  iron  ranks  thundered  to  him  like  billows  foaming  about 
a  rock.  Modred  claimed  silence  with  uplifted  sword. 

"Enough, gentlemen, enough.  No  bellowing.  Muzzle 
your  temper.  We  make  our  spring  in  silence,  that  we 
may  claw  the  harder." 

A  line  of  hills  lay  before  them,  heights  crowned  with 
black  pine  woods,  save  for  one  bare  ridge  like  a  great 
scimitar  carving  the  sky.  Flavian  advanced  his  companies 
up  the  slopes,  halted  them  in  a  broad  hollow  under  the 
brow  of  the  hill.  A  last  galloper  had  ridden  in  with  hot 
tidings  of  the  rebels.  The  Lord  of  Gambrevault,  with  Sir 
Modred  and  Longsword,  cantered  on  to  reconnoitre.  They 
drew  to  a  thicket  of  gnarled  hollies  on  the  hilltop,  and 
looked  down  upon  a  long  grass  valley  bounded  north  and 
south  by  woods. 

Half  a  mile  away  came  the  rebel  vanguard,  a  black  mass 
of  footmen  plodding  uphill,  their  pikes  and  bills  shining  in 
the  sun.  Pennons  and  gonfalons  danced  here  and  there, 
while  in  the  thick  of  the  column  flew  the  red  banner  of  the 
Forest,  girt  about  by  the  spears  of  Yeoland's  guard.  She 
could  be  seen  on  her  white  horse  in  the  midst  of  the  press. 
The  Gerainters  were  split  into  three  columns,  the  second 
column  half  a  mile  behind  the  first,  the  third  somewhat 
closer  upon  the  second.  They  were  marching  without 
outriders,  as  though  thoroughly  assured  of  their  own  safety. 

Modred  chuckled  grimly  through  his  black  beard,  and 
smote  his  thigh. 

"  Fcols,  fools !" 

"  Devilish  generalship,"  quoth  Longsword  under  his 
beaver.  "  We  can  crush  their  van  like  a  wheatfield  before 
the  rest  can  come  up.  What  say  you,  sire,  fewtre  spears, 
and  at  them  ?  " 

Flavian  had  already  turned  his  horse. 

"  No  sounding  of  trumpets,  sirs,"  he  said ;  "  we  will 
deal  only  with  their  van.  Call  up  our  companies.  God 
and  St.  Philip  for  Gambrevault ! " 

Over   the  bare    ridge,   with  its  barriers  of  sun-steeped 


2O2  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

trees,  steel  shivered  and  spears  bristled,  rank  on  rank,  wave 
on  wave.  With  a  massed  rhythm  of  hoofs,  the  flood 
crested  the  hill,  plunged  down  at  a  gallop  with  fewtred 
spears.  Knee  to  knee,  flank  to  flank,  a  thousand  streaks 
of  steel  deluged  the  hillside.  Their  trumpets  throated  now 
the  charge ;  the  iron  ranks  clashed  and  thundered,  rocked 
on  with  a  rush  of  glittering  shields. 

As  dust  rolling  before  a  March  wind,  so  the  horsemen 
of  Gambrevault  poured  down  on  the  horde  of  wavering 
pikes.  The  storm  had  come  sudden  as  thunder  out  of  a 
summer  sky.  Before  the  hurtling  impact  of  that  bolt  of 
war,  the  palsied  ranks  of  foot  crumbled  like  rotten  timber. 
The  Gerainters  were  too  massed  and  too  amazed  to 
squander  or  give  ground,  to  stem  with  bill  and  bow  the 
rolling  torrent  of  death.  They  were  rent  and  trampled, 
trodden  like  straw  under  the  stupendous  avalanche  of  steel 
that  crushed  and  pulverised  with  ponderous  and  invincible 
might. 

"  God  and  Gambrevault,  kill,  kill !  " 

Such  was  the  death-cry  thundered  out  over  the  rebel 
van.  The  column  broke,  burst  into  infinite  chaos. 
Yeoland's  guards  alone  stood  firm,  a  tough  core  of  oak 
amid  rotten  tinder.  Over  the  trampled  wreckage  the 
fight  swirled  and  eddied,  circling  about  the  knot  of  steel 
where  the  red  banner  flapped  in  the  vortex  of  the  storm. 

Yeoland  sat  dazed  on  her  white  horse,  as  one  in  the 
grip  of  some  terrific  dream.  Nord  was  at  her  side, 
snarling,  snapping  his  jaw  like  a  wolf,  his  great  iron 
mace  poised  over  his  shoulder.  The  red  banner  flapped 
prophetic  above  their  heads.  Around  them  the  fight 
gathered,  a  whirlwind  of  contorted  figures  and  stabbing 
steel. 

Yeoland's  eyes  were  on  one  figure  in  the  press,  a  man 
straddling  a  big  bay  horse,  smiting  double-handed  with 
his  sword,  his  red  plume  jerking  in  the  hot  rush  of  the 
fight.  She  saw  horse  and  man  go  down  before  him ; 
saw  him  buffet  his  way  onward  like  a  galley  ploughing 


'THE  SWORD  SLASHED   NORD'S   GORGET,   BURIED   ITS  BLADE  IN  THE 
BULL-LIKE   NECK." 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  2O3 

against  wind  and  wave.  His  leaping  sword  and  tossing 
plume  came  steady  and  strenuous  through  the  girdle  of 
death. 

Fear,  pride,  a  hundred  battling  passions  played  like  the 
battle  through  the  woman's  mobile  brain.  She  watched 
the  man  under  the  red  plume  with  an  intensity  of  feeling 
that  made  her  blind  to  all  else  for  the  moment.  Love 
seemed  to  struggle  towards  her  in  bright  harness  through 
the  fight.  She  saw  the  last  rank  of  the  human  rampart 
pierced.  The  man  on  the  bay  horse  came  out  before  her 
like  some  warrior  out  of  an  old  epic. 

None  save  Nord  stood  between  them,  shaggy  and  grim 
as  a  great  Norse  Thor.  She  watched  the  iron  mace 
swing,  saw  it  fall  and  smite  wide.  Flavian  stood  in  the 
stirrups,  both  hands  to  the  hilt,  his  horse's  muzzle  rammed 
against  the  opposing  brute's  chest.  The  blow  fell,  a 
great  cut  laid  in  with  all  the  culminating  courage  of  an 
hour.  The  sword  slashed  Nord's  gorget,  buried  its  blade 
in  the  bull-like  neck.  He  clutched  at  his  throat,  toppled, 
slid  out  of  the  saddle  and  rolled  under  his  horse's  hoofs. 

The  man's  hand  snatched  at  the  girl's  bridle;  he 
dragged  her  and  her  horse  out  of  the  press.  She  had  a 
confused  vision  of  carnage,  of  stabbing  swords  and  tram- 
pling hoofs.  She  saw  her  banner-bearer  fall  forward  on  his 
horse's  neck,  thrust  through  with  a  sword,  while  Modred 
seized  the  banner  staff  from  his  impotent  hand.  The 
rebel  column  had  deliquesced  and  vanished.  In  its  stead 
she  was  girdled  by  grim  and  exultant  horsemen  whose 
swords  flashed  in  the  sun. 

Trumpets  blew  the  retreat.  A  thousand  glittering 
riders  swarmed  about  her  and  the  knight  with  the  red 
plume.  She  had  his  words  confusedly  in  her  ears,  strong, 
passionate  words,  heroic,  yet  utterly  tender.  They  rode 
uphill  together  amid  the  clangour  of  his  men.  In  a 
minute  they  had  won  the  ridge,  and  were  swinging  down 
the  further  slope  with  their  faces  towards  Gambrevault. 


XXX 

PARIS  and  Helen  have  been  dead  centuries,  yet  in  that  uni- 
versal world  of  the  mind  they  still  live,  young  and  glorious 
as  when  the  Grecian  galleys  ploughed  foam  through  the  blue 
JEgezn.  The  world  loves  a  lover.  Troilus  stages  our  own 
emotions  for  us  in  godlier  wise  than  we  poor  realists  can 
hope  to  do.  We  owe  an  eternal  gratitude  to  those  who 
have  stood  for  love  in  history.  All  men  might  well  desire 
to  play  the  Tristan  to  Iseult  of  the  Irish  eyes.  We  forget 
Gemma  Donati,  and  follow  with  Dante's  wistful  idealism 
the  gleaming  figure  of  Beatrice  in  Paradise. 

Now  the  Lord  Flavian  was  one  of  those  happy  persons 
who  seem  to  stumble  into  heaven  either  by  prodigious 
instinct  or  remarkable  good-fortune.  God  gives  to  many 
men  gold  ;  to  others  intellect ;  to  some  truth ;  to  few,  a 
human  echo,  a  harmony  in  the  spirit,  the  right  woman  in 
the  world.  Many  of  us  are  such  unstable  folk  that  we 
vibrate  vastly  to  a  beautiful  face  and  hail  heaven  in  a  pair 
of  violet  eyes.  The  chance  is  that  such  a  business  turns 
out  miserably.  It  is  a  wise  rule  to  search  the  world  through 
to  find  your  Beatrice,  or  bide  celibate  to  the  end.  Happy 
is  the  man  whose  instinctive  choice  is  ratified  by  all  the 
wisest  poetry  of  heaven.  Happy  is  he  who  finds  a  ruby  as 
he  rakes  the  ephemeral  flower-gardens  of  life,  a  gem  eternally 
bright  and  beautiful,  durable,  unchanging,  flashing  light  ever 
into  the  soul.  It  is  given  to  few  to  love  wisely,  to  love 
utterly,  to  love  till  death. 

That  summer  day  Flavian  saw  life  at  its  zenith,  as  he 
rode  through  the  woods  on  the  way  to  Gambrevault.  The 
horse  had  dropped  to  a  trot,  and  the  man  had  taken  off  his 

204 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  2O$ 

helmet  and  hung  it  at  his  saddle-bow.  He  was  still  red 
from  the  melee  ;  his  eyes  were  bright  and  triumphant. 
The  girl  at  his  side  looked  at  him  half-timidly,  a  tremor 
upon  her  lip,  her  glances  clouded.  The  terrific  action  of 
the  last  hour  still  seemed  to  weigh  upon  her  senses,  and  she 
seemed  fated  to  be  the  sport  of  contending  sentiments.  No 
sooner  had  she  struggled  to  some  level  of  saintliness  than 
love  rushed  in  with  burning  wings,  and  lo,  all  the  tinsel  of 
her  religion  fell  away,  and  she  was  a  mere  Eve,  a  child 
of  Nature. 

Flavian  watched  her  with  the  tenderness  of  a  strong 
man,  who  is  ready  to  give  his  life  for  the  woman  he 
serves.  Love  seemed  to  rise  from  her  and  play  upon  him 
like  perfume  from  a  bowl  of  violets ;  her  eyes  transfigured 
him,  and  he  longed  to  touch  her  hair. 

"  At  last." 

«  Lord  ?  " 

"  Treat  me  as  a  man,  I  hate  that  epithet." 

"  You  are  a  great  signer." 

"  What  are  titles,  testaments,  etiquettes  to  us !  I  am 
only  great  so  long  as  you  trust  and  honour  me." 

"  Your  power  might  appear  precarious." 

"  As  you  will." 

"  Yet  war  is  loose  !  " 

He  looked  round  upon  the  sea  of  men  that  rolled  on 
every  hand. 

"  And  war  at  its  worst.  I  have  seen  enough  in  three 
days  to  make  me  loathe  your  partisans  and  their  principles." 

"  Perhaps." 

"  It  is  a  wicked  and  inhuman  business." 

11  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  ? "  she  said. 

"  Remove  you  from  the  hands  of  butchers  and  offal- 
mongers  ;  put  you  like  a  pearl  in  a  casket  in  my  own 
castle  of  Gambrevault." 

"  You  incur  the  greater  peril." 

"  Have  I  not  told  you  that  no  woman  loves  a  coward  ?  " 

She  was  silent  awhile,  with  her  eyes  wistful  and  melan- 


206  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

choly,  as  though  some  spiritual  conflict  were  passing  in  her 
mind.  Bitterness  escaped  in  the  man's  words  for  all  his 
tenderness  and  chivalry.  He  needed  an  answer.  Anon 
she  capitulated  and  appeared  to  surrender  herself  absolutely 
to  circumstance.  She  began  to  tell  Flavian  of  her  adop- 
tion by  Fulviac,  of  her  vision  in  the  ruined  chapel,  of  the 
part  assigned  to  her  as  a  woman  ordained  by  heaven.  He 
heard  her  in  silence,  finding  quaint  pleasure  in  listening  to 
her  voice,  having  never  heard  her  talk  at  such  length  be- 
fore. Her  voice's  modulations,  its  pathos,  its  many  tones, 
were  more  subtle  to  him  than  any  music,  and  seemed  to 
steep  in  oblivion  the  grim  realities  of  the  last  few  days. 
He  watched  the  play  of  thought  upon  her  face,  sun  and 
shadow,  calm  and  unrest.  He  began  to  comprehend  the 
discords  he  had  flung  into  her  life ;  she  was  no  longer  a 
riddle  to  him ;  her  confessions  portrayed  her  soul  in  warm 
and  delicate  colouring  —  colouring  pathetic  and  heroically 
pure.  He  had  a  glorious  sense  of  joy  in  ah  instinctive 
conviction  that  this  girl  was  worthy  of  all  the  highest 
chivalry  a  man's  heart  can  conceive  of. 

Though  he  had  a  strong  suspicion  that  he  could  human- 
ise her  Madonna  for  her,  he  refrained  from  argument,  re- 
frained from  dilating  on  the  iniquities  her  so-called  crusades 
had  already  perpetrated.  Moreover,  the  girl  had  opened 
her  heart  to  him  with  a  delicious  and  innocent  ingenuous- 
ness. He  felt  that  the  hour  had  blessed  him  sufficiently ; 
that  personalities  would  be  gross  and  impertinent  in  the 
light  of  that  sympathy  that  seemed  suddenly  to  have  envel- 
oped them  like  a  golden  cloud.  The  girl  appeared  to  have 
surrendered  herself  spiritually  into  his  keeping,  not  sorry 
in  measure  that  a  strong  destiny  had  decided  her  doubts 
for  her.  They  were  to  let  political  considerations  and  the 
ephemeral  turmoils  of  the  times  sink  under  their  feet.  It 
was  sufficient  for  them  to  be  but  a  man  and  a  woman,  to 
forget  the  forbidden  fruit,  and  the  serpent  and  his  lore. 
God  walked  the  world ;  they  were  not  ashamed  to  hear 
His  voice. 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  2O/ 

So  they  came  with  their  glittering  horde  of  horsemen 
to  Gambrevault,  and  rode  over  the  green  downs  with 
towers  beckoning  from  the  blue.  The  Gilderoy  forces 
were  still  miles  away,  and  could  not  have  threatened  the 
retreat  on  Gambrevault  had  they  been  wise  as  to  the 
event.  Yeoland  rode  close  at  Flavian's  side.  He  touched 
her  hand,  looked  in  her  eyes,  saw  the  colour  stream  to  her 
cheeks,  knew  that  she  no  longer  was  his  enemy. 

u  Yonder  stands  Gambrevault,"  were  his  words ;  "  its 
walls  shall  bulwark  you  against  the  world.  Trust  me  and 
my  eternal  faith  to  you.  I  shall  see  God  more  clearly  for 
looking  in  your  eyes." 

He  lodged  her  in  a  chamber  in  the  keep,  a  room  that 
had  been  his  mother's  and  still  held  the  furniture,  books, 
and  music  she  had  used.  Its  window  looked  out  on  the 
castle  garden,  and  over  the  double  line  of  walls  to  the 
meadows  and  woods  beyond.  Maud,  the  castellan's  wife, 
was  bidden  to  wait  upon  her.  Flavian  gave  her  the  keys 
of  his  mother's  chests,  where  silks,  samites,  sarcenets  galore, 
lace  and  all  manner  of  golden  fripperies,  were  stored.  The 
ewers  of  the  room  were  of  silver,  its  hangings  of  violet 
cloth,  its  bed  inlaid  with  ivory  and  hung  with  purple  velvet. 
It  had  a  shelf  full  of  beautifully  illumined  books,  a  prayer- 
desk  and  a  small  altar,  a  harp,  a  lute,  an  embroidery  frame, 
and  numberless  curios.  Thus  by  the  might  of  the  sword 
Yeoland  was  installed  in  the  great  castle  of  Gambrevault. 

So  Duessa  and  Balthasar  were  dead.  The  girl  had  told 
Flavian  what  had  passed  in  Sforza's  palace ;  the  news 
shocked  him  more  than  he  would  have  dreamed.  The 
dead  wound  us  with  their  unapproachableness  and  the 
mute  pathos  of  their  pale,  imagined  faces.  They  are 
like  our  own  sins  that  stare  at  us  from  the  night  sky, 
irrevocable  and  beyond  us  for  ever.  Flavian  ordered 
tapers  to  be  burnt  and  masses  said  in  the  castle  chapel 
for  the  souls  of  these  two  unfortunates.  He  himself 
spent  more  than  an  hour  in  silent  prayer  before  he  con- 
fessed, received  penance  and  absolution. 


2O8  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

That  evening,  at  Flavian's  prayer,  Yeoland  came  down 
to  meet  him  in  the  castle  garden,  with  the  castellan's  two 
girls  to  serve  her  as  maids  of  honour.  She  had  put  aside 
her  armour,  and  was  clad  in  a  jacket  of  violet  cloth, 
fitting  close  to  the  figure,  and  a  skirt  of  light  blue  silk. 
In  the  old  yew  walk,  stately  and  solemn,  amid  the  bright 
parterres  and  stone  urns  gushing  colour,  the  two  children 
slipped  away  and  left  Yeoland  and  the  man  alone. 

She  seemed  to  have  lost  much  of  her  restraint,  much 
of  her  independence,  of  her  reserve,  in  a  few  short  hours. 
Her  mood  inclined  towards  silence  and  a  certain  delight- 
ful solemnity  such  as  a  lover  loves.  Her  eyes  met  the 
man's  with  a  rare  trust ;  her  hands  went  into  his  with  all 
the  ideal  faith  he  had  forecast  in  his  dreams. 

They  stood  together  under  the  yews,  full  of  youth  and 
innocent  joy  of  soul,  timid,  happily  sad,  content  to  be 
mere  children.  Flavian  touched  her  hands  as  he  would 
have  touched  a  lily.  She  seemed  too  wonderful,  too  pure, 
too  transcendent  to  be  fingered.  A  supreme,  a  godly 
timidity  possessed  him ;  he  had  such  love  in  his  heart  as 
only  the  strong  and  the  pure  can  know,  such  love  as 
makes  a  man  a  saint  unto  himself,  a  being  wrapped  round 
with  the  rarest  chivalry  of  heaven. 

Their  words  were  very  simple  and  infrequent. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  said  the  girl. 

«  Yes  ? " 

"  How  war  seems  ever  in  the  world." 

"  How  else  should  I  have  won  you  ?  " 

She  sighed  and  looked  up  over  his  shoulder  at  the  sun- 
light glimmering  gold  through  the  yews. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  how  I  bring  you  infinite  peril. 
They  will  not  lose  me  easily.  What  if  I  bring  you  to 
ruin  ? " 

"  I  take  everything  to  myself." 

"  They  believe  me  a  saint." 

"  And  I !  " 

"  My  conscience  will  reproach  me,  but  now " 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  2OQ 

"Well?" 

"  I  am  too  happy  to  remember." 

Their  eyes  met  and  flashed  all  the  unutterable  truths 
of  the  soul.  Flavian  kissed  her  hand. 

"  Forget  it  all,"  he  said, "  save  the  words  I  spoke  to  you 
over  that  forest  grave.  Whatever  doom  may  come  upon 
me,  though  death  frown,  I  care  not;  all  the  sky  is  at 
sunset,  all  the  world  is  full  of  song.  I  could  meet  God 
to-morrow  with  a  smile,  since  you  have  shown  me  all 
your  heart." 

From  a  little  stone  pavilion  hidden  by  laurels  the 
voices  of  flutes  and  viols  swirled  out  upon  the  air.  The 
west  grew  faint,  and  twilight  increased ;  night  kissed 
and  closed  the  azure  eyes  of  the  day.  Under  the  yew 
boughs,  Flavian  and  Yeoland  walked  hand  in  hand ;  the 
music  spoke  for  them ;  the  night  made  their  faces  pale 
and  spiritual  under  the  trees.  They  said  little ;  a  tremor 
of  the  fingers,  a  glance,  a  sigh  were  enough.  When  the 
west  had  faded,  and  the  last  primrose  streak  was  gone, 
Flavian  kissed  the  girl's  lips  and  sent  her  back  to  the  two 
children,  who  were  curled  on  a  bench  by  the  laurels, 
listening  sleepily  to  the  music  of  flute  and  viol. 

The  man's  soul  was  too  scintillant  and  joyous  to  shun 
the  stars.  He  passed  up  on  to  the  battlements,  and 
listened  to  the  long  surge  of  the  summer  sea. 

And  as  he  paced  the  battlements  that  night,  he  saw  red, 
impish  specks  of  flame  start  out  against  the  black  back- 
ground of  the  night.  They  were  the  rebel  watchfires 
burning  on  the  hills,  sinister  eyes,  red  with  the  distant 
prophecy  of  war. 


XXXI 

IT  would  be  difficult  to  describe  the  thundercloud  of 
thought  that  came  down  upon  Fulviac's  face  when  news 
was  brought  him  of  the  capture  of  the  girl  Yeoland  and  the 
decimation  of  the  vanguard  from  Geraint.  There  was 
something  even  Satanic  upon  his  face  for  the  moment.  He 
was  not  a  pleasant  person  when  roused,  and  roused  he  was 
that  day  like  any  ogre.  His  tongue  ran  through  the  whole 
gamut  of  blasphemy  before  he  recovered  a  finer  dignity  and 
relapsed  into  a  grim  reserve.  His  men  spoke  to  him  with 
great  suavity.  He  had  decreed  that  Nord  of  the  Hammer 
should  be  hanged  for  negligence,  but  the  decree  was 
unnecessary,  since  Flavian's  sword  had  already  settled  the 
matter. 

The  Gilderoy  forces  therefore  turned  northwards,  with 
their  great  baggage  and  siege  train,  and  in  due  course  came 
upon  the  Gerainters  bivouacking  on  the  ridge  where  the 
battle  had  taken  place.  The  green  slopes  were  specked 
with  dark  motionless  figures,  dead  horses,  and  the  wreck- 
age of  war.  Men  were  burying  the  dead  upon  the  battle- 
field. Yeoland's  guard  had  been  slaughtered  almost  to  a 
man ;  and  the  whole  affair  had  damped  very  considerably 
the  ardour  of  certain  of  the  less  trustworthy  levies. 

But  Fulviac  was  not  the  man  to  sit  and  snivel  over  a 
defeat ;  he  knew  well  enough  that  he  had  good  men  behind 
him,  tough  fighting  stuff,  fired  by  fanaticism  and  a  long 
sense  of  wrong.  He  harangued  his  whole  force,  black- 
guarded with  his  lion's  roar  those  concerned  in  the  march 
from  Geraint,  treating  them  to  such  a  scourging  with 
words  that  they  snarled  and  clamoured  to  be  led  on  at  once 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  211 

to  prove  their  mettle.  Their  leaders  had  been  at  fault, 
nor  did  Fulviac  keep  their  spirits  cooling  in  the  wind. 
The  power  of  his  own  personality  was  great,  and  he  had 
twenty  thousand  men  at  his  back,  who  knew  that  to  fail 
meant  death  and  torture.  They  had  received  a  check  from 
the  Lord  of  Gambrevault ;  it  was  absolutely  essential  to 
the  cause  that  they  should  wipe  out  the  defeat,  recapture 
their  Saint  and  sacred  banner,  crush  Gambrevault  once  and 
for  ever.  To  this  strenuous  tune  they  marched  on 
towards  the  sea,  and  that  night  lit  their  fires  on  the  hills 
that  ringed  Gambrevault  on  the  north. 

As  the  sun  climbed  up  and  spread  a  curtain  of  gold  over 
down  and  upland,  those  on  the  walls  of  Gambrevault  saw 
steel  glinting  on  the  hills,  the  pikes  and  casques  of  Fulviac's 
horde.  Yeoland  saw  them  from  her  casement,  as  she  stood 
and  combed  her  hair.  Flavian,  watching  with  certain 
knights  on  the  keep,  confronted  the  event  with  a  merry 
smile.  The  shimmering  line  of  silver  on  the  hills  had 
broadened  to  a  darker  band,  splashed  lavishly  with  steel. 
The  rebel  host  was  coming  on  in  a  half  moon,  with  each 
horn  to  the  sea.  Its  centre  held  towards  the  ford  and  the 
dismantled  Gambrevault  mills,  positions  strongly  held  on 
the  southern  bank  by  a  redoubt  and  stockaded  trenches. 

The  criticisms  delivered  by  those  watching  from  the 
keep  were  various  and  forcible. 

"  By  Jeremy  —  a  rare  mob  !  " 

"Let  them  grip  at  Gambrevault,"  said  Modred,  "and 
they  shall  clutch  at  a  cactus.  Look  at  that  long  baggage 
train  in  the  rear.  Damn  them,  I  guess  they  have  the 
siege  train  from  Gilderoy." 

"  We  shall  sweat  a  trifle." 

Quoth  Tristram,  "  They  have  little  time  to  spare  for  a 
leaguer,  rotting  in  trenches,  if  they  are  to  make  the  coun- 
try rise.  They'll  not  leaguer  us." 

Flavian  watched  the  advance  under  his  hand. 

"  Fortunately  or  unfortunately,  gentlemen,"  he  said, 
"  we  have  taken  their  Saint,  their  oracle,  and  their  sacred 


212  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

banner.  I  imagine  they  will  do  their  best  to  dispossess  us. 
It  is  time  we  made  for  the  meadows;  I  reckon  we  shall 
have  hot  work  to-day." 

When  leaving  the  keep,  Flavian  crossed  the  castle  gar- 
den, and  caught  under  the  tunnel  of  yews  the  flutter  of  a 
woman's  gown.  Sunlight  glimmered  through  and  wove  a 
shimmering  network  in  the  air.  Green  and  violet  swept 
the  stones  j  a  white  face  shone  in  the  shadows. 

He  went  to  her  and  kissed  her  hands.  His  eyes  were 
brave  and  joyous  as  she  looked  into  them,  and  there  was 
no  shadow  of  fear  upon  his  face.  Trumpets  were  blowing 
in  the  meadows,  piercing  the  confused  hum  of  men  running 
to  arms. 

"  War,  ever  war  !  " 

"  You  are  sad  ?  " 

"  Fulviac  has  the  whole  kingdom  at  his  back." 

11  If  he  led  the  world,  I  should  not  waver." 

"  With  me  it  is  different ;  I  am  a  woman  and  you  know 
my  heart." 

"  So  well  that  I  seek  to  know  nothing  else  in  the  world, 
I  desire  no  greater  wisdom  than  my  love.  You  are  with 
me,  and  my  heart  sings.  No  harm  can  come  to  you  what- 
ever doom  may  fall  on  Gambrevault." 

41  Think  you  my  thoughts  are  all  of  my  own  safety  ? " 

"  Ah,  golden  one,  never  fear  for  me.  What  is  life  ? 
a  little  joy,  a  little  pain,  and  then  eternity.  I  would 
rather  have  an  hour's  glory  in  the  sun  than  fifty  years 
of  grey  monotony.  It  is  something  to  fight,  and  even 
to  die,  for  the  love  of  a  woman.  There  is  no  shadow 
over  my  soul." 

There  was  a  great  heroism  in  his  voice,  and  her  eyes 
caught  the  light  from  his.  She  touched  his  cuirass  with 
her  slim  white  fingers. 

"  God  keep  you  !  " 

"Ha,  I  do  not  smell  of  earth  to-day,  nor  dream  of 
requiems." 

"  No,  you  will  come  back  to  me." 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  21$ 

"  Give  me  your  scarf." 

She  took  the  green  silk  and  knotted  it  about  his  arm ; 
a  rich  colour  shone  in  her  cheeks,  her  eyes  were  warm 
and  wonderfully  luminous. 

"  God  keep  you  !  " 

So  he  kissed  her  lips  and  left  her. 

The  rebel  horde  had  rolled  down  in  their  thousands 
from  the  hills.  Flavian  saw  their  black  masses  moving 
from  the  woods,  as  he  rode  down  from  the  great  gate. 
It  was  evident  to  him  that  Fulviac  would  try  and  force 
the  ford  and  win  his  way  to  the  open  meadows  beyond. 
The  river  ran  fast  with  a  deep  but  narrow  channel,  and 
there  was  only  one  other  ford  some  nine  miles  upstream. 
His  own  men  were  under  arms  in  the  meadows.  With 
his  knights  round  him,  Flavian  rode  down  to  the  redoubt 
and  trenches  by  the  river-bank,  packed  as  they  already 
were  with  archers  and  men-at-arms.  He  was  loudly 
cheered  as  he  reined  in  and  scanned  the  rebel  columns 
moving  over  the  downs. 

Fulviac  had  ridden  forward  with  a  company  of  spears 
to  reconnoitre.  He  saw  the  captured  banner  of  The 
Maid  hoisted  derisively  on  Gambrevault  keep;  he  saw 
the  redoubt  and  the  stockades  covering  the  ford ;  the 
foot  massed  in  the  meadows ;  Flavian's  mounted  men-at- 
arms  drawn  up  under  the  castle  walls.  Sforza  and  several 
captains  of  note  were  with  Fulviac.  The  man  was  in  a 
grim  mood,  a  slashing  Titanic  humour.  The  passage  of 
the  river  was  to  be  forced,  Flavian's  men  engaged  in  the 
meadows.  He  would  drive  them  into  Gambrevault  before 
nightfall.  Then  they  would  cast  their  leaguer,  bring  up 
the  siege  train  taken  from  Gilderoy,  and  batter  at  Gambre- 
vault till  they  could  storm  the  place. 

Early  in  the  day  Fulviac  detached  a  body  of  two 
thousand  men  under  Colgran,  a  noted  free-lance,  to  march 
upstream,  cross  by  the  upper  ford,  and  threaten  Flavian 
on  the  flank.  The  fighting  began  at  ten  of  the  clock, 
when  Fulviac's  bowmen  scattered  along  the  river  and 


214  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

opened  fire  upon  the  stockades.  Flavian's  archers  and  ar- 
balisters  responded.  A  body  of  five  thousand  rebels  advanced 
with  great  mantlets  upon  wheels  to  the  northern  bank  and 
entrenched  themselves  there.  A  second  body,  with  waggons 
laden  with  timber  and  several  flat-bottomed  boats,  poured 
down  to  the  river  a  mile  higher  up,  and  began  to  throw 
a  rough,  raft-like  bridge  across  the  stream.  At  half-past 
ten  masses  of  men-at-arms  splashed  through  the  water  at 
the  ford,  under  cover  of  a  hot  fire  from  the  archers  lining 
the  bank,  and  began  an  assault  upon  the  redoubt  and  the 
stockades. 

By  twelve  o'clock  the  bridge  higher  up  the  stream  had 
been  completed,  and  a  glittering  line  of  pikes  poured  across, 
to  be  met  on  the  southern  bank  by  Geoffrey  Longsword 
and  a  body  of  men-at-arms.  It  was  hand  to  hand,  and 
hot  and  strenuous  as  could  be.  Men  grappled,  stabbed, 
hacked,  bellowed  like  a  herd  of  bulls.  Flavian  had  rein- 
forced the  defenders  of  the  ford,  who  still  held  Fulviac  at 
bay,  despite  a  heavy  archery  fire  and  the  almost  continuous 
assaults  poured  against  .the  stockades.  Yet  by  one  o'clock 
Fulviac's  levies  had  forced  the  passage  of  the  bridge  and 
gained  footing  on  the  southern  bank.  Longsword's  men, 
outnumbered  and  repulsed,  were  falling  back  before  the 
black  masses  of  foot  that  now  poured  into  the  meadows. 

The  situation  was  critical  enough,  as  Flavian  had  long 
seen,  as  he  galloped  hotly  from  point  to  point.  Fulviac's 
rebels  had  shown  more  valour  than  he  had  ever  prophesied. 
Flavian  packed  all  his  remaining  foot  into  the  trenches,  and 
putting  himself  at  the  head  of  his  knights  and  mounted 
men-at-arms,  rode  down  to  charge  the  troops  who  had 
crossed  by  the  pontoons.  Here  chivalry  availed  him  to  the 
full.  By  a  succession  of  tremendous  rushes,  he  drove  the 
rebels  back  into  the  river,  did  much  merciless  slaughter,  cut 
the  ropes  that  held  the  bridge  to  the  southern  bank,  so  that 
the  whole  structure  veered  downstream.  The  peril  seemed 
past,  when  he  was  startled  by  the  cry  that  the  redoubt  had 
been  carried,  and  that  Fulviac  held  the  ford. 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  21$ 

Looking  south,  he  saw  the  truth  with  his  own  eyes.  His 
troops  were  falling  back  in  disorder  upon  Gambrevault, 
followed  by  an  ever-growing  mass,  that  swarmed  exultantly 
into  the  meadows.  The  last  and  successful  assault  had 
been  led  by  Fulviac  in  person.  Flavian  had  to  grip  the 
truth.  The  rebels  outnumbered  him  by  more  than  five  to 
one ;  and  he  had  underrated  their  discipline  and  fighting 
spirit.  He  was  wiser  before  the  sun  went  down. 

"  Come,  gentlemen,  we  shall  beat  them  yet." 

"  Shall  we  charge  them,  sire  ?  " 

"  Blow  bugles,  follow  me,  sirs ;  I  am  in  no  mood  for 
defeat." 

That  afternoon  there  was  grim  work  in  the  Gambrevault 
meadows.  Five  times  Flavian  charged  Fulviac's  columns, 
hurling  them  back  towards  the  river,  only  to  be  repulsed  in 
turn  by  the  fresh  masses  that  poured  over  by  the  ford.  He 
made  much  slaughter,  lost  many  good  men  in  the  mad, 
whirling  melees.  Desperate  heroism  inspired  on  either 
hand.  Once  he  stood  in  great  peril  of  his  own  life,  hav- 
ing been  unhorsed  and  surrounded  by  a  mob  of  rebel  pikes. 
He  was  saved  by  the  devotion  and  heroism  of  Modred  and 
his  household  knights.  With  the  chivalry  of  a  Galahad,  he 
did  all  that  a  man  could  to  keep  the  field.  Colgran's  flanking 
column  appeared  over  the  downs,  and  Fulviac  had  his  whole 
host  on  the  southern  bank  of  the  river.  The  masses  advanced 
like  one  man,  pennons  flying,  trumpets  clanging.  Flavian 
would  have  charged  again,  but  for  the  vehement  dissuasion 
of  certain  of  his  elder  knights.  He  contented  himself  with 
covering  the  retreat  of  his  foot,  while  the  great  gate  of 
Gambrevault  opened  its  black  maw  to  take  them  in.  Many 
of  his  mercenaries  had  deserted  to  the  rebels.  So  stubborn 
and  bloody  had  been  the  day,  that  he  had  lost  close  upon  half 
his  force  by  death  and  desertion  ;  no  quarter  had  been  given 
on  either  side.  He  heard  the  surging  shouts  of  exultation 
from  the  meadows,  as  he  rode  sullen  and  wearied  into 
Gambrevault.  The  great  gates  thundered  to,  the  portcullises 
rattled  down.  Fulviac  had  his  man  shut  up  in  Gambrevault. 


XXXII 

THE  leaguer  was  drawn  that  night  about  the  towers  of 
Gambrevault,  and  the  castle  stood  clasped  betwixt  the 
watch-fires  and  the  sea.  Fulviac's  rebels,  toiling  from 
evening  until  dawn,  banked  and  staked  a  rampart  to  close 
the  headland.  From  the  north  alone  could  Gambrevault 
be  approached,  precipices  plunging  south,  east,  and  west 
to  front  the  sea.  Athwart  the  grassy  isthmus  Fulviac  drew 
his  works,  running  from  cliff  to  cliff,  brown  earth-banks 
bristling  with  timber.  Mortars,  bombards,  basilics,  and 
great  catapults  had  been  brought  from  Gilderoy  to  batter 
the  walls.  Redoubts,  covered  by  strong  mantlets,  were 
established  in  the  meadows.  Several  small  war  galleys 
guarded  the  castle  on  the  side  of  the  sea. 

Nor  was  this  labour  permitted  to  pass  unrebuked  before 
the  leaguered  folk  upon  the  headland.  There  were  sallies, 
assaults,  bloody  tussles  in  the  trenches,  skirmishes  upon 
the  causeway.  Yet  these  fiercenesses  brought  no  flattering 
boon  to  the  besieged.  The  knights  and  men-at-arms  were 
masterful  enough  with  an  open  field  to  serve  them,  but 
behind  their  barricades  Fulviac's  rebels  held  the  advantage. 
The  command  went  forth  from  Modred  the  seneschal  that 
there  were  to  be  no  more  sorties  delivered  against  the 
trenches. 

On  the  second  day  of  the  leaguer  the  cannonade  began. 
Bombard  and  mortar  belched  flame  and  smoke ;  the  hu^>e 
catapults  strove  with  their  gigantic  arms ;  arbalisters 
wound  their  windlasses  behind  the  ramparts.  Shot 
screamed  and  hurtled,  crashed  and  thundered  against  the 
walls,  bringing  down  mortar  and  masonry  in  rattling 

216 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  21 7 

showers.  The  battlements  of  Gambrevault  spouted  flame ; 
archers  plied  their  bows  in  bartisan  and  turret.  A  shroud 
of  dust  and  smoke  swirled  about  the  place,  the  chaotic 
clamour  of  the  siege  sending  the  gulls  wheeling  and  wail- 
ing from  the  cliffs. 

On  the  very  second  day  Flavian  was  brought  low  by  a 
shot  hurling  a  fragment  of  masonry  upon  his  thigh  and 
bruising  it  to  the  bone.  Stiff  and  faint,  he  was  laid  abed 
in  his  own  state  room,  unable  to  stir  for  the  twinging  ten- 
dons, loth  enough  to  lie  idle.  Modred,  bluff,  lusty  smiter, 
took  the  command  from  him,  and  walked  the  walls.  Hourly 
he  came  in  to  his  lord's  chamber  to  tell  of  the  cannonade 
and  the  state  of  the  castle.  Even  Flavian  from  his 
cushions  could  see  that  the  man's  black  face  looked  grim 
and  sinister. 

"  How  do  they  vex  us  ? "  was  his  question,  as  the 
thunder  came  to  them  from  the  meadows. 

Modred  clinked  his  heels  against  the  wainscotting  of 
the  window  seat,  and  strove  to  sweeten  his  looks.  He  was 
not  a  man  given  to  blandishing  the  truth. 

"  Their  damned  bombards  are  too  heavy  for  us.  We 
are  dumb." 

"  Impossible  !  " 

"  Sire,  we  shall  have  to  hold  Gambrevault  by  the 
sword." 

The  man  on  the  bed  started  up  on  his  elbow,  only  to 
fall  back  again  with  a  spasmodic  twitching  of  the  forehead. 

"  And  our  bombards  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Are  toppled  off  their  trunnions." 

«  Ha ! " 

"  For  the  rest,  sire,  I  have  ordered  our  men  to  keep 
cover.  The  bowmen  shoot  passably.  The  outer  battle- 
ments are  swept." 

"  And  the  walls  ?  " 

Modred  grimaced  and  stroked  his  beard. 

"  There  are  cracks  in  the  gate-house,"  quoth  he,  "  that 
I  could  lay  my  fist  in." 


2l8  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

What  goodlier  fortune  for  a  man  than  to  lie  bruised 
when  Love  bears  to  him  the  bowl  of  dreams !  What 
softer  balm  than  the  touch  of  a  woman's  hand  !  What 
more  subtle  music  than  her  voice  !  The  girl  Yeoland  had 

O 

betrayed  a  new  wilfulness  to  the  world,  in  that  she  now 
claimed  as  her  guerdon  the  care  of  the  man's  heart.  She 
was  in  and  about  his  room,  a  shadow  moving  in  the  sun- 
light, a  shaft  of  youth,  supple  and  very  tender.  Her  eyes 
had  a  rarer  lustre,  her  face  more  of  the  dawn  tint  of  the 
rose.  Love  stirred  within  her  soul  like  the  sound  of  angels 
psaltering  on  the  golden  battlements  of  heaven. 

As  she  sat  often  beside  him,  Flavian  won  the  whole 
romance  from  her,  gradual  as  glistening  threads  of  silk 
drawn  from  a  scarlet  purse.  She  waxed  very  solemn  over 
her  tale,  was  timid  at  times,  and  exceeding  sorrowful  for 
all  her  passion.  Some  shadowy  fear  seemed  to  companion 
her  beside  the  couch,  some  wraith  prophetic  of  a  tragic 
end.  She  loved  the  man,  yet  feared  her  love,  even  as  it 
had  been  a  sword  shimmering  above  his  head.  Peril  com- 
passed them  like  an  angry  sea ;  she  heard  the  bombards 
thundering  in  the  meadows. 

11  Ah,  sire,"  she  said  to  him  one  morning,  as  she  thrust 
the  flowers  she  had  gathered  in  the  garden  into  a  brazen 
bowl,  "  I  am  heavy  at  heart.  Who  shall  pity  me  ?  " 

He  turned  towards  her  on  his  cushions  with  a  smile  that 
was  not  prophetic  of  the  tomb. 

"  Do  I  weary  you  ? " 

"  Ah  no,  not  that." 

"  Why  then  are  you  sad  ?  " 

She  held  up  a  white  hand  in  the  gloom  of  the  room, 
her  hair  falling  like  a  black  cloud  upon  her  bosom. 

"  Listen,"  she  said  to  him. 

"  I  am  not  deaf." 

"  The  thunder  of  war." 

"  Well,  well,  my  heart,  should  I  fear  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  I  who  fear." 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand  into  his  bosom,  "  put 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  21$ 

such  fears  far  from  you.  We  shall  not  end  this  year  in 
dust." 

A  week  passed  and  the  man  was  on  the  walls  again, 
bold  and  ruddy  as  a  youthful  Jove.  Seven  days  had  gone, 
swelling  with  their  hours  the  great  concourse  in  the 
meadows.  Pikes  had  sprouted  on  the  hills  like  glisten- 
ing corn,  to  roll  and  merge  into  the  girding  barrier  of 
steel.  The  disloyal  south  had  gathered  to  Fulviac  before 
Gambrevault  like  dust  in  a  dry  corner  in  the  month  of 
March.  A  great  host  teemed  betwixt  the  river  and  the 
cliffs.  Through  all,  the  rack  and  thunder  of  the  siege 
went  on,  drowning  the  sea's  voice,  flinging  a  storm-cloud 
over  the  stubborn  walls.  In  Gambrevault  men  looked 
grim,  and  muttered  of  succour  and  the  armies  of  the  King. 

Yet  Flavian  was  content.  He  had  taken  a  transcendent 
spirit  into  his  soul ;  he  lived  to  music ;  drank  love  and 
chivalry  like  nectar  from  the  gods.  The  woman's  near- 
ness made  each  hour  a  chalice  of  gold.  He  possessed  her 
red  heart,  looked  deep  into  her  eyes,  put  her  slim  hands 
into  his  bosom.  Her  voice  haunted  him  like  music  out 
of  heaven.  He  was  a  dreamer,  a  Lotos-eater,  whose  brain 
seemed  laden  with  all  the  perfumes  of  the  East.  Ready 
was  he  to  drain  the  purple  wine  of  life  even  to  the  dregs, 
and  to  find  death  in  the  cup  if  the  Fates  so  willed  it. 

And  Fulviac  ? 

War  had  held  a  poniard  at  his  throat,  turning  him  to  the 
truth  with  the  threat  of  steel.  Grim  and  implacable,  he 
stalked  the  meadows,  bending  his  brows  upon  the  towers 
of  Gambrevault.  This  girl  of  the  woods  was  no  more  a 
dream  to  him,  but  supple  love,  ardent  flesh,  blood-red 
reality.  Lean,  leering  thoughts  taunted  the  lascivious  fears 
within  his  brain.  His  moods  were  silent  yet  tempestuous. 
Gambrevault  mocked  him.  Vengeance  burnt  in  his  palm 
like  a  globe  of  molten  iron. 

His  dogged  temper  roused  his  captains  to  strenuous  de- 
bate. Fifty  thousand  men  were  idle  before  the  place,  and 
the  siege  dragged  like  a  homily.  Their  insinuations  were 


220  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

strong  and  strident.  The  countryside  was  emptying  its 
broad  larder ;  Malgo  and  Godamar  of  the  Fens  were 
marching  from  east  and  west.  Ten  thousand  men  could 
leaguer  Gambrevault.  It  behoved  Fulviac  to  pluck  up 
his  spears  and  march  on  Lauretia,  proud  city  of  the  King. 

For  a  season  Fulviac  was  stubborn  as  Gambrevault 
itself.  His  yellow  eyes  glittered,  and  he  tossed  back  his 
lion's  mane  from  off  his  forehead. 

"  Till  the  place  is  ours,"  so  ran  his  dogma,  "  I  stir  never 
a  foot.  See  to  it,  sirs,  we  will  put  these  skulkers  to  the 
sword." 

His  captains  were  strenuous  in  retort. 

"  You  mar  the  cause,"  said  Sforza  over  the  council-board, 
thin-lipped  and  subtle. 

"  Give  me  ten  thousand  men,"  quoth  Colgran  the  free- 
lance, "by  my  bones  I  will  take  the  place  and  bring  the 
Maid  out  scatheless." 

Prosper  the  Priest  put  in  his  plea. 

"  You  are  our  torch,"  he  said,  "  our  beacon.  Malgo  is 
on  the  march  ;  Godamar  has  massed  behind  the  creeks  of 
Thorney  Isle.  The  country  waits  for  you.  Leave  Gam- 
brevault to  Colgran." 

And  again  the  free-lance  made  his  oath. 

"  Give  me  ten  thousand  men,"  quoth  he,  "  by  Peter's 
blood  the  place  shall  tumble  in  a  month." 

That  same  evening,  as  a  last  justification  of  his  stubborn 
will,  Fulviac  sent  forward  a  trumpeter  under  a  white  flag 
to  parley  with  the  besieged.  The  herald's  company  drew 
to  the  walls  as  the  sun  sank  over  the  sea,  setting  the 
black  towers  in  a  splendour  as  of  fire.  Fulviac's  troops 
were  under  arms  in  the  meadows,  their  pikes  glittering  with 
sinister  meaning  into  the  purple  of  the  coming  night.  The 
Lord  of  Gambrevault,  in  full  harness,  met  the  white  flag, 
his  knights  round  him,  a  crescent  of  steel. 

Fulviac's  trumpeter  proclaimed  his  terms.  They  were 
insolently  simple,  surrender  absolute  with  the  mere  bless- 
ings of  life  and  limb,  a  dungeon  for  the  lords,  a  proffer  of 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  221 

traitorous  service  to  the  men.  Yeoland  the  Saint  was  to 
be  sent  forth  scatheless.  The  castle  was  to  be  garrisoned 
and  held  by  the  rebels. 

Flavian  laughed  at  the  bluff  insolence  of  the  demand. 

"  Ha,  sirs,"  he  said,  u  we  are  the  King's  men  here. 
Get  you  gone  before  my  gate.  Say  to  yonder  traitor  in  the 
meadows,  l  We  quail  not  before  scullions  and  at  the  frowns 
of  cooks.'  " 

Thus,  under  the  red  canopy  of  the  warring  west,  ended 
the  parley  at  the  gate  of  Gambrevault.  The  white  flag 
tripped  back  behind  the  trenches  ;  the  castle  trumpets  blew 
a  fanfare  to  grace  its  flight.  Yeoland  the  Saint  heard  it, 
and  her  lamp  of  hope  burnt  dim. 

That  night  Fulviac  paced  the  meadows,  his  eyes  scanning 
the  black  mass  upon  the  cliffs.  Dark  as  was  his  humour, 
reason  ruled  him  at  the  climax,  powerful  to  extort  the 
truth.  Primaeval  instincts  were  strong  in  him,  yet  he  put 
them  back  that  hour  out  of  his  heart.  Robust  and  vigor- 
ous, he  trampled  passion  under  foot.  At  dawn  his  orders 
went  forth  to  the  captains  and  the  council. 

"  Colgran  shall  command.  Ten  thousand  men  shall 
serve  him.  Let  him  storm  the  place,  grant  no  terms, 
spare  Yeoland  the  Maid  alone.  Let  him  butcher  the 
garrison,  and  let  the  ruin  rot.  When  all  have  been  put  to 
the  sword,  let  him  march  and  join  me  before  the  city  of 
Lauretia." 


XXXIII 

So  Fulviac  with  his  host  passed  northwards  from  Gambre- 
vault,  leaving  Colgran  and  his  ten  thousand  to  guard  the 
trenches.  Flavian  saw  the  black  columns  curl  away  over 
the  green  slopes,  their  pikes  glittering  against  the  blue 
fringe  of  the  horizon,  their  banners  blowing  to  the  breeze. 
The  red  pavilion  stood  no  longer  in  the  meadows;  the 
man  on  the  black  horse  rode  no  more  behind  the  barricades. 
Ominous  was  the  marching  of  the  host  over  the  hills,  a 
prophecy  of  many  battles  before  the  King's  men  could  suc- 
cour Gambrevault. 

The  gate-house  stood  in  ruins,  a  shattered  pile  of 
masonry  barriering  the  causeway  from  the  meadows.  The 
outer  curtain  wall  on  the  north  had  been  pierced  between 
two  towers ;  the  stone-work  crumbled  fast,  opening  a 
gradual  breach  to  the  rebel  sea  dammed  behind  the  trenches. 
The  battlements  were  rent  and  ruinous ;  many  a  turret 
gaped  and  tottered.  Still  the  bombards  thundered,  hurling 
their  salvos  of  shot  against  the  place,  belching  flame  even 
through  the  night,  while  the  arms  of  the  great  slings  toiled 
like  giant  hands  in  the  dark. 

As  for  the  girl  Yeoland,  her  joy  was  dim  and  flickering, 
mocked  with  constant  prophecies  of  woe.  The  sounds  of 
the  siege  haunted  her  perpetually.  Shafts  wailed  and 
whistled,  bombards  roared,  the  walls  reeked  and  cracked. 
A  corner  in  the  garden  under  the  yew  walk  was  the  single 
nook  left  her  open  to  the  blue  hope  of  heaven.  The 
clamour  of  the  leaguer  woke  a  hundred  echoes  in  her 
heart.  Above  all  shone  the  man's  strong  face  and  pas- 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  22$ 

sionate  eyes ;  above  the  moon,  the  stars,  the  blue  vault  of 
day,  death  spread  his  sable  wings,  a  cloud  of  gloom. 

On  the  sixteenth  day  of  the  siege,  Colgran  made  an 
assault  in  force  upon  the  ruins  of  the  gate-house.  Despite 
its  chaotic  state,  Flavian  clung  to  the  ruin,  and  held  the 
stormers  at  bay.  Thrice  Colgran's  rebels  advanced  to  the  at- 
tack, and  came  hand-to-hand  with  the  defenders  over  the 
crumbling  piles  of  stone  ;  thrice  they  were  beaten  back  and 
driven  to  retreat  upon  their  trenches.  Colgran  renounced 
the  gate-house  as  impregnable  ;  the  slings  and  bombards 
were  turned  upon  the  outer  wall  to  widen  the  breach 
already  made  therein. 

It  was  plain  enough  even  to  Yeoland  that  the  siege  was 
bearing  slowly  yet  surely  against  Gambrevault.  More 
than  half  a  month  had  passed,  and  still  no  succouring 
spears  shone  upon  the  hills,  no  sail  upon  the  sea.  Poor 
food  and  summer  heat,  the  crowding  of  the  garrison  had 
opened  a  gate  to  fever  and  disease.  She  saw  the  stern  and 
moody  faces  of  the  soldiery,  their  loyalty  that  took  fresh 
and  hectic  fire  from  the  courage  of  their  lord.  She  saw 
the  broken  walls  and  ruined  battlements,  and  heard  the 
rebels  shouting  in  their  trenches. 

As  the  man's  peril  grew  more  real  and  significant,  a 
fear  more  vehement  entered  into  her  heart.  Sleep  left 
her ;  she  began  to  look  white  and  weary,  with  dark 
shadows  under  her  eyes.  The  man's  warm  youth  accused 
her  like  a  tree  that  should  soon  be  smitten  by  the  axe. 
His  fine  heroism  was  a  veritable  scourge,  making  the 
future  full  of  discords,  a  charnel-house  glimmering  with 
bleached  bones.  She  began  to  know  how  closely  their 
lives  were  mingled,  even  as  wine  in  a  cup  of  gold.  He 
was  lord  and  husband  to  her  in  the  spirit.  Her  red  heart 
quaked  for  him  like  the  shivering  petals  of  an  autumn 
rose. 

On  the  day  of  the  assault  upon  the  gate-house,  he 
came  back  to  her  wounded  in  the  arm  and  shoulder.  He 
was  faint,  but  brave  and  even  merry.  She  would  suffer 


224  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

none  to  come  in  to  him,  as  he  sat  in  a  carved  chair  in  her 
room  that  opened  on  the  garden.  The  sight  of  blood 
when  harness  and  gamboison  were  taken  from  the  caked 
wounds  quickened  her  fears  into  a  fever  of  self-torture. 
She  bathed  the  wounds  and  dressed  them  with  fragrant 
oil  and  linen.  Twilight  filled  the  room,  and  it  was  not 
till  her  tears  fell  upon  his  hand  that  the  man  found  that 
she  was  weeping. 

He  drew  her  towards  him  with  sudden  great  tenderness, 
as  she  knelt  and  looked  into  his  face.  Her  eyes  swam 
with  tears,  her  lips  quivered. 

"  My  life,  why  do  you  weep  ?  " 

She  started  away  from  him  with  sudden  strength,  and 
stood  by  the  window,  trembling. 

11  Give  me  my  armour  and  my  banner,"  she  said;  "let 
me  ride  to  the  trenches  and  barter  terms  by  my  surrender. 
Sire,  let  me  go,  let  me  go." 

He  looked  at  her  sadly  under  his  brows,  with  forehead 
wrinkled. 

"  You  would  leave  me  ?  " 

"  Ah  yes,  to  save  you  from  the  sword.  Is  it  easy  for 
me  to  ask  you  this  ?  " 

"  You  crave  more  than  I  can  give." 

«No,  no." 

"  I  cannot  surrender  you." 

"  And  for  love,  you  would  doom  all  Gambrevault !  " 

"  Ah ! "  he  cried,  "  I  am  wounded,  and  you  would 
wound  me  the  more." 

She  gave  a  whimper  of  pain,  ran  to  him,  and  crept  into 
his  arms.  As  her  sobs  shook  her,  he  bent  many  times  and 
kissed  her  hair. 

"Weep  not  for  me,"  he  said;  "even  when  the  end 
comes  no  harm  can  touch  you.  I  cannot  parley  with 
these  wolves ;  there  are  women  and  children  under  my 
roof;  should  I  open  my  gates  to  a  savage  mob  ? " 

"  This  is  your  doom,"  she  said  to  him. 

"  I  take  it,  child,  from  heaven." 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  22$ 

She  wept  no  more,  for  a  richer  heroism  took  fire  within 
her  heart.  She  knelt  to  the  man  while  he  held  her 
face  betwixt  his  hands,  bent  over  her,  and  kissed  her 
forehead. 

"  Courage,  courage,  what  is  death  !  " 

"  My  God,  to  lose  you." 

"  There,  am  I  not  flesh  and  blood  ?  God  knows,  I 
would  rather  have  death  than  give  you  to  these  vultures." 

She  knelt  before  him  with  her  face  transfigured. 

"  And  death,  death  can  touch  me  also." 


XXXIV 

AUGUST  came  in  with  storm  and  rain,  and  a  dreary  wind 
blew  from  the  south-west,  huddling  masses  of  cloud  over 
a  spiritless  sky.  Southwards,  the  sea  tumbled,  a  grey 
expanse  edged  with  foam,  its  great  breakers  booming 
dismally  upon  the  cliffs.  The  wind  swept  over  Gambre- 
vault,  moaning  and  wailing  over  battlement  and  tower, 
driving  the  rain  in  drifting  sheets.  The  bombards  still 
belched  and  smoked  under  their  penthouses,  and  the  arms 
of  the  catapults  rose  and  fell  against  the  sullen  sky. 

The  eighteenth  night  of  the  siege  came  out  of  the  east 
like  a  thunder  bank,  and  the  grey  shivering  ghost  of  the 
day  fled  over  the  western  hills.  When  darkness  had  fallen, 
the  walls  of  Gambrevault  were  invisible  from  the  trenches. 
Here  and  there  a  light  shone  out  like  a  spark  in  tinder ; 
the  sky  above  was  black  as  a  cavern,  unbroken  by  the 
crack  or  cranny  of  a  star. 

Flavian,  fully  armed,  kept  watch  upon  the  breach  with 
a  strong  company  of  men-at-arms.  He  had  taken  the  ugly 
measure  of  the  night  to  heart,  and  had  prepared  accordingly. 
Under  the  shelter  of  the  wall  men  slept,  wrapped  in  their 
cloaks,  with  their  weapons  lying  by  them.  The  sentinels 
had  been  doubled  on  the  battlements,  though  little  could 
be  seen  in  the  blank  murk,  and  even  the  keep  had  to  be 
looked  for  before  its  mass  disjointed  itself  from  the  back- 
ground of  the  night. 

It  was  treacherous  weather,  and  just  the  season  for  an 
adventurous  enemy  to  creep  from  the  trenches  and  attempt 
to  rush  the  breach.  Flavian  leant  upon  his  long  sword, 

226 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

and  brooded.  The  black  ends  of  the  broken  wall  stood  up 
hugely  on  either  hand  ;  rubble  and  fallen  masonry  paved 
the  breach,  and  a  rough  rampart  of  debris  had  been  piled 
along  the  summit.  Around  him  shone  the  dull  armour  of 
his  men,  as  they  stood  on  guard  in  the  rain. 

The  storm  deadened  soul  and  body,  yet  kept  Flavian 
vigilant  with  its  boisterous  laughter,  a  sound  that  might 
stifle  the  tramp  of  stormers  pouring  to  the  breach.  He 
was  not  lonely,  for  a  lover  can  do  without  the  confidences 
of  others,  when  he  has  a  woman  to  speak  with  in  his  heart. 
In  fancy  he  can  lavish  the  infinite  tenderness  of  the  soul, 
caress,  quarrel,  kiss,  comfort,  with  all  the  idealisms  of  the 
imagination.  The  spirit  lips  we  touch  are  sweeter  and 
more  red  than  those  in  the  flesh.  To  the  true  man  love  is 
the  grandest  asceticism  the  world  can  produce. 

Flavian's  figure  straightened  suddenly  as  it  leant  bowed 
in  thought  upon  the  sword.  He  was  alert  and  vigilant, 
staring  into  darkness  that  baffled  vision  and  hid  the  un- 
known. A  dull,  characterless  sound  was  in  the  air. 
Whether  it  was  the  wind,  the  sea,  or  something  more  sin- 
ister, he  could  not  tell.  Calling  one  of  his  knights  to  his 
side,  they  stood  together  listening  on  the  wreckage  of  the 
wall. 

A  vague  clink,  clink,  came  in  discord  to  the  wind,  a 
sound  that  suggested  the  cautious  moving  of  armed  men. 
A  hoarse  voice  was  growling  warily  in  the  distance,  as 
though  giving  orders.  The  shrilling  noise  of  steel  grew 
more  obvious  each  moment ;  the  black  void  below  appeared 
to  grow  full  of  movement,  to  swirl  and  eddy  like  a  lagoon, 
whose  muddy  waters  are  disturbed  by  some  huge  reptile  at 
night.  The  sudden  hoarse  cries  of  sentinels  rose  from  the 
walls.  Feet  stumbled  on  the  debris  at  the  base  of  the 
breach  j  stormers  were  on  the  threshold  of  Gambrevault. 

A  trumpet  blared  in  the  entry ;  the  guard  closed  up  on 
the  rampart ;  sleeping  men  started  from  the  shadows  of  the 
wall,  seized  sword  and  shield  as  the  trumpets'  bray  rang  in 
their  ears.  Colgran's  stormers,  discovered  in  their  purpose, 


228  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

cast  caution  to  the  winds,  and  sent  up  a  shout  that  should 
have  wakened  all  Gambrevault. 

In  the  darkness  and  the  driving  rain,  neither  party  could 
see  much  of  the  other.  The  stormers  came  climbing  blindly 
up  the  pile  of  wreckage  in  serried  masses.  Flavian  and 
his  knights,  who  held  the  rampart,  big  men  and  large- 
hearted,  smote  at  the  black  tide  of  bodies  that  rolled  to  their 
swords.  It  was  grim  work  in  the  dark.  It  was  no  sleepy, 
disorderly  rabble  that  held  the  breach,  but  a  tense  line  of 
steel,  that  stemmed  the  assault  like  a  wall.  The  stormers 
pushed  up  and  up,  to  break  and  deliquesce  before  those 
terrible  swords.  Modred's  deep  voice  sounded  through  the 
din,  as  he  smote  with  his  great  axe,  blows  that  would  have 
shaken  an  oak.  There  was  little  shouting ;  it  was  breath- 
less work,  done  in  earnest.  Colgran's  men  showed  pluck, 
fought  well,  left  a  rampart  of  dead  to  their  credit,  a  squirm- 
ing, oozing  barrier,  but  came  no  nearer  forcing  the  breach. 

They  had  lost  the  propitious  moment,  and  the  whole 
garrison  was  under  arms,  ready  to  repulse  the  attacks  made 
at  other  points.  Scaling  ladders  had  been  jerked  forward 
and  reared  against  the  walls ;  men  swarmed  up,  but  the 
rebels  gained  no  lasting  foothold  on  the  battlements.  They 
were  beaten  back,  their  ladders  hurled  down,  masonry 
toppled  upon  the  mass  below.  Many  a  man  lay  with  neck 
or  back  broken  in  the  confused  tangle  of  humanity  at  the 
foot  of  the  castle. 

Colgran  ordered  up  fresh  troops.  It  was  his  policy  to 
wear  out  the  garrison  by  sheer  importunity  and  the  stress 
of  numbers.  He  could  afford  to  lose  some  hundred  men ; 
every  score  were  precious  now  to  Flavian.  It  was  a  sys- 
tem of  counter  barter  in  blood,  till  the  weaker  vessel  ran 
dry.  The  Lord  of  Gambrevault  understood  this  rough 
philosophy  well  enough,  and  husbanded  his  resources.  He 
could  not  gamble  with  death,  and  so  changed  his  men  when 
the  opportunity  offered,  to  give  breathing  space  to  all. 
Conscious  of  the  strong  stimulus  of  personal  heroism,  he 
kept  to  the  breach  himself,  and  fought  on  through  every 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  22Q 

assault  with  Modred's  great  axe  swinging  at  his  side.  He 
owed  his  life  more  than  once  to  those  gorilla-like  arms 
and  that  crescent  of  steel. 

In  the  outer  court,  certain  of  the  women  folk  with  Yeo- 
land  dealt  out  wine  and  food,  and  tended  the  wounded.  In 
the  chapel,  tapers  glimmered,  lighting  the  frescoes  and  the 
saints,  the  priest  chanting  at  the  altar,  the  women  and 
children  who  knelt  in  the  shadowy  aisles  praying  for  those 
who  fought  upon  the  walls.  Panic  hovered  over  the  pale 
faces,  the  fear,  the  shivering,  weeping,  pleading  figures. 
There  was  little  heroism  in  Gambrevault  chapel,  save  the 
heroism  of  supplication.  While  swords  tossed  and  men 
groped  for  each  other  in  the  wind  and  rain,  old  Peter  the 
cellarer  lay  drunk  in  a  wine  bin,  and  lame  Joan,  who  tended 
the  linen,  was  snivelling  in  the  chapel  and  fingering  the  gold 
angels  sewn  up  in  her  tunic. 

Five  times  did  Colgran's  men  assault  the  breach  that 
night,  each  repulse  leaving  its  husks  on  the  bloody  wreck- 
age, its  red  libations  to  the  swords  of  Gambrevault.  The 
last  and  toughest  tussle  came  during  the  grey  prologue 
before  dawn.  The  place  was  so  packed  with  the  dead  and 
stricken,  that  it  was  well-nigh  impassable.  For  some 
minutes  the  struggle  hung  precariously  on  the  summit  of 
the  pass,  but  with  the  dawn  the  peril  dwindled  and  elapsed. 
The  stormers  revolted  from  the  shambles ;  they  had  fought 
their  fill ;  had  done  enough  for  honour ;  were  sick  and 
weary.  No  taunt,  command,  or  imprecation  could  keep 
them  longer  in  that  gate  of  death.  Colgran's  rebels 
retreated  on  their  trenches. 

And  with  the  dawn  Flavian  looked  round  upon  the 
breach,  and  saw  all  the  horror  of  the  place  in  one  brief 
moment.  Cloven  faces,  hacked  bodies,  distortions,  tor- 
tures, blood  everywhere.  He  looked  round  over  his  own 
men  ;  saw  their  meagre  ranks,  their  weariness,  their  wounds, 
their  exultation  that  lapsed  silently  into  a  kind  of  desperate 
awe.  Some  tried  to  cheer  him,  and  at  the  sound  he  felt  an 
unutterable  melancholy  descend  upon  his  soul.  The  men 


230  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

were  like  so  many  sickly  ghosts,  a  wan  and  battered  flock, 
a  ragged  remnant.  He  saw  the  whole  truth  in  a  moment, 
as  a  man  sees  life,  death,  and  eternity  pass  before  him  in 
the  flashing  wisdom  of  a  single  thought. 

And  this  was  war,  this  cataclysm  of  insatiate  wrath  ! 
His  men  were  too  few,  too  bustled,  to  hold  the  breach 
against  such  another  storm.  His  trumpets  blared  the  re- 
treat, a  grim  and  tragic  fanfare.  They  dragged  out  their 
wounded,  abandoned  the  pile  of  rubbish  for  which  they  had 
fought,  and  withdrew  sullenly  within  the  inner  walls.  Col- 
gran,  though  repulsed,  had  taken  the  outer  ward  of  Gam- 
brevault. 

As  one  stumbling  from  a  dream,  Flavian  found  himself 
in  the  castle  garden.  The  place  was  full  of  the  freshness 
that  follows  rain  ;  and  it  was  not  till  the  scent  of  flowers 
met  him  like  an  odour  of  peace,  that  he  marked  that  the 
sky  was  blue  and  the  dawn  like  saffron.  The  storm-clouds 
had  gone,  and  the  wind  was  a  mere  breeze,  a  moist  breath 
from  the  west,  bearing  a  curious  contrast  to  the  furious 
temper  of  the  night. 

Flavian,  looking  like  a  white-faced  debauchee,  limped 
through  the  court,  and  climbed  the  stairway  of  the  keep 
to  the  banqueting  hall  and  his  own  state  chambers. 
Several  of  his  knights  followed  him  at  a  distance  and  in 
silence.  He  felt  sick  as  a  dog,  and  burdened  with  unutter- 
able care,  that  weighed  upon  him  like  a  prophecy.  He 
had  held  the  breach  against  heavy  odds,  and  he  was  brood- 
ing over  the  cost.  There  was  honour  in  the  sheer  physi- 
cal heroism  of  the  deed ;  but  he  had  lost  old  friends  and 
tried  servants,  had  sacrificed  his  outer  walls ;  there  was 
little  cause  for  exultation  in  the  main. 

He  stumbled  into  the  banqueting  hall  like  a  man  into  a 
tavern. 

"  Wine,  wine,  for  the  love  of  God." 

A  slim  figure  in  green  came  out  from  the  oriel,  and  a 
pair  of  dark  eyes  quivered  over  the  man's  grey  face  and 
blood-stained  armour.  The  girl's  hands  went  out  to  him, 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

and  she  seemed  like  a  child  roused  in  the  night  from  the 
influence  of  some  evil  dream. 

"You  are  wounded." 

She  took  him  by  the  arm  and  shoulder,  and  was  able  to 
force  him  into  a  chair,  so  limp,  so  impotent,  was  he  for  the 
moment.  His  face  had  the  uncanny  pallor  of  one  who  was 
about  to  faint ;  his  eyes  stared  at  her  in  a  dazed  and  wistful 
way. 

"  My  God,  you  are  not  going  to  die  !  " 

He  shook  his  head,  smiled  weakly,  and  groped  for  her 
hand.  She  broke  away,  brought  wine,  and  began  to 
trickle  it  between  his  lips.  Several  of  his  knights  came 
in,  and  looked  on  awkwardly  from  the  doorway  at  the 
girl  leaning  over  the  man's  chair,  with  her  arm  under  his 
head.  Yeoland  caught  sight  of  them,  coloured  and  called 
them  forward. 

The  man's  faintness  had  passed.  He  saw  Modred  and 
beckoned  him  to  his  chair. 

u  Take  her  away,"  in  a  whisper. 

Yeoland  heard  the  words,  started  round,  and  clung  to 
his  hand.  There  was  a  strange  look  upon  her  face. 
Flavian  spoke  slowly  to  her. 

"  Girl,  I  am  not  a  savoury  object,  fresh  from  the 
carnage  of  a  breach.  Leave  me  to  my  surgeon.  I  would 
only  save  you  pain.  As  for  dying,  I  feel  like  an  Adam. 
Go  to  your  room,  child ;  I  will  be  with  you  before  long." 

She  held  both  his  hands,  looked  in  his  eyes  a  moment, 
then  turned  away  with  Modred  and  left  him.  She  was 
very  pale,  and  there  was  a  tremor  about  her  lips. 

Irrelevant  harness  soon  surrendered  to  skilled  fingers. 
No  great  evil  had  been  done,  thanks  to  the  fine  temper 
of  Flavian's  armour;  the  few  gashes,  washed,  oiled,  and 
dressed,  left  him  not  seriously  the  worse  for  the  night's 
tussle.  Wine  and  food  recovered  his  manhood.  He  was 
barbered,  perfumed,  dressed,  and  turned  out  by  his 
servants,  a  very  handsome  fellow,  with  a  fine  pallor  and 
a  pathetic  limp. 


232  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

His  first  care  was  to  see  his  own  men  attended  to,  the 
wounded  properly  bestowed,  a  good  supply  of  food  and 
wine  dealt  out.  He  had  a  brave  word  and  a  smile  for 
all.  As  he  passed,  he  found  Father  Julian  the  priest 
administering  the  Host  to  those  whose  dim  eyes  were 
closing  upon  earth  and  sky. 

Modred,  that  iron  man,  who  never  seemed  weary,  was 
stalking  the  battlements,  and  getting  the  place  prepared 
for  the  next  storm  that  should  break.  Flavian  renounced 
responsibilities  for  the  moment,  and  crossed  the  garden  to 
Yeoland's  room.  He  entered  quietly,  looked  about  him, 
saw  a  figure  prostrate  on  the  cushions  of  the  window 
seat. 

He  crossed  the  room  very  quickly,  knelt  down  and 
touched  the  girl's  hair.  Her  face  was  hidden  in  the 
cushions.  She  turned  slowly  on  her  side,  and  looked  at 
him  with  a  wan,  pitiful  stare ;  her  eyes  were  timid,  but 
empty  of  tears. 

"  Ah,  girl,  what  troubles  you  ?  " 

She  did  not  look  at  him,  though  he  held  her  hands. 

"  Are  you  angry  with  me  ?  " 

"  No,  no." 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?  " 

She  spoke  very  slowly,  in  a  suppressed  and  toneless 
voice. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  the  truth  ?  " 

He  watched  her  as  though  she  were  a  saint. 

"  I  have  had  a  horrible  thought  in  my  heart,  and  it  has 
wounded  me  to  death." 

"  Tell  it  me,  tell  it  me." 

"  That  you  had  repented  all " 

"  Repented  ! " 

"  Of  all  the  ruin  I  am  bringing  upon  you ;  that  you  were 
beginning  to  think " 

He  gave  a  deep  cry. 

"  You  believed  that !  " 

She  lay  back  on  the  cushions  with  a  great  sigh.    Flavian 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  233 

had  his  arms  about  her,  as  he  bent  over  her  till  their  lips 
nearly  touched. 

"  How  could  you  fear  !  " 

"I  am  so  much  a  woman." 


"  And  something  is  all  the  world  to  me,  even  though  -  " 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  I  would  die  happy." 

He  understood  her  whole  heart,  and  kissed  her  lips. 

"  Little  woman,  I  had  come  here  to  this  room  to  ask 
you  one  thing  more.  You  can  guess  it." 

"Ah  -  " 

"  Father  Julian." 

She  drew  his  head  down  upon  her  shoulder,  and  he  knelt 
a  long  while  in  silence,  with  her  bosom  rising  and  falling 
under  his  cheek. 

"  I  am  happy,"  he  said  at  last  ;  "  child-wife,  child-hus- 
band, let  us  go  hand  in  hand  into  heaven." 


XXXV 

So  with  Colgran  and  his  rebels  beating  at  the  inner  gate, 
Flavian  of  Gambrevault  took  Yeoland  to  wife,  and  was 
married  that  same  eve  by  Father  Julian  in  the  castle 
chapel.  There  was  pathetic  cynicism  in  the  service, 
celebrating  as  it  did  the  temporal  blending  of  two  bodies 
who  bade  fair  by  their  destinies  to  return  speedily  to  dust. 
The  chant  might  have  served  as  a  requiem,  or  a  dirge  for 
the  fall  of  the  mighty.  It  was  a  tragic  scene,  a  solemn 
ceremony,  attended  by  grim-faced  men  in  plated  steel,  by 
frightened  women  and  sickly  children.  Famine,  disease, 
and  death  headed  the  procession,  jigged  with  the  torches, 
danced  like  skeletons  about  a  bier.  Trumpets  and  cannon 
gave  an  epithalamium  ;  bones  might  have  been  scattered 
in  lieu  of  flowers,  and  wounds  espoused  in  place  of  favours. 
For  a  marriage  pageant  war  pointed  to  the  grinning 
corpses  in  the  breach  and  the  clotted  ruins.  It  was  such 
a  ceremony  that  might  have  appealed  to  a  Stoic,  or  to  a 
Marius  brooding  amid  the  ruins  of  Carthage. 

Peril  chastens  the  brave,  and  death  is  as  wine  to  the 
heart  of  the  saint.  Even  as  the  sky  seems  of  purer  crystal 
before  a  storm,  so  the  soul  pinions  to  a  more  luminous 
heroism  when  the  mortal  tragedy  of  life  nears  the 
"  explicit."  As  the  martyrs  exulted  in  their  spiritual 
triumph,  or  as  Pico  of  Mirandola  beheld  transcendent 
visions  on  his  bed  of  death,  when  the  Golden  Lilies  of 
France  waved  into  luckless  Florence,  so  Flavian  and 
Yeoland  his  wife  took  to  their  hearts  a  true  bridal  beauty. 

When  the  door  was  closed  on  them  that  night,  a 

234 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  235 

mysterious  cavern,  a  spiritual  shrine  of  gold,  came  down 
as  from  heaven  to  cover  their  souls.  They  had  no  need 
of  the  subtleties  of  earth,  of  music  and  of  colour,  of 
flowers,  or  scent,  or  song.  They  were  the  world,  the  sky, 
the  sea,  the  infinite.  Imperishable  atoms  from  the  alembic 
of  God,  they  fused  soul  with  soul,  became  as  one  fair  gem 
that  wakes  a  thousand  lustres  in  its  sapphire  unity.  To 
such  a  festival  bring  no  fauns  and  dryads,  no  lewd  and 
supple  goddess,  no  Orphean  flute.  Rather,  let  Christ  hold 
forth  His  wounded  hands,  and  let  the  wings  of  angels 
glimmer  like  snow  over  the  alchemy  of  souls. 

Flavian  knelt  beside  the  bed  and  prayed.  He  had  the 
girl's  hand  in  his,  and  her  dark  hair  swept  in  masses  over 
the  pillow,  framing  her  spiritual  face  as  a  dark  cloud  holds 
the  moon.  Her  bed-gown  was  of  the  whitest  lace  and 
linen,  like  foam  bounding  the  violet  coverlet  that  swept 
to  her  bosom.  The  light  from  the  single  lamp  burnt 
steadily  in  her  great  dark  eyes. 

Flavian  lifted  up  his  face  from  the  coverlet  and  looked 
long  at  her. 

"  Dear  heart,  have  no  fear  of  me,"  he  said. 

She  smiled  wonderfully,  and  read  all  the  fine  philosophy 
of  his  soul. 

"  God  be  thanked,  you  are  a  good  man." 

"  Ah,  child,  you  are  so  wonderful  that  I  dare  not  touch 
you ;  I  have  such  grand  awe  in  my  heart  that  even  your 
breath  upon  my  face  makes  me  bow  down  as  though  an 
angel  touched  my  forehead." 

"  All  good  and  great  love  is  of  heaven." 

"  Pure  as  the  lilies  in  the  courts  of  God.  Every  frag- 
ment of  you  is  like  to  me  as  a  pearl  from  the  lips  of 
angels ;  your  flesh  is  of  silver,  your  bosom  as  snow  from 
Lebanon,  girded  with  the  gold  of  truth.  Oh,  second 
Adam,  thanks  be  to  thee  for  thy  philosophy." 

She  put  out  her  hands  and  touched  his  hair ;  their  eyes 
were  like  sea  and  sky  in  summer,  tranquil,  tender,  and 
unshadowed. 


236  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

"  I  love  you  for  this  purity,  ah,  more  and  more  than  I 
can  tell." 

"  True  love  is  ever  pure." 

"  And  for  me,  such  love  as  yours.  Never  to  see  the 
wolfish  stare,  the  flushed  forehead,  and  the  loosened  lip ; 
never  to  feel  the  burning  breath.  God  indeed  be  thanked 
for  this." 

"  Have  no  fear  of  me." 

"  Ah,  like  a  white  gull  into  a  blue  sky,  like  water  into  a 
crystal  bowl,  I  give  myself  into  your  arms." 


XXXVI 

A  WEEK  had  passed,  and  the  Gambrevault  trumpets  blew 
the  last  rally;  her  drums  rumbled  on  the  battlements  of 
the  keep  where  the  women  and  children  had  been  gathered, 
a  dumb,  panic-ridden  flock,  huddled  together  like  sheep  in 
a  pen.  The  great  banner  flapped  above  their  heads  with  a 
solemn  and  sinuous  benediction.  The  sun  was  spreading 
on  the  sea  a  golden  track  towards  the  west,  and  the  shouts 
of  the  besiegers  rose  from  the  courts. 

On  the  stairs  and  in  the  banqueting  hall  the  last 
remnant  of  the  garrison  had  gathered,  half-starved  men, 
silent  and  grim  as  death,  game  to  the  last  finger.  They 
handled  their  swords  and  waited,  moving  restlessly  to 
and  fro  like  caged  leopards.  They  knew  what  was  to 
come,  and  hungered  to  have  it  over  and  done  with.  It 
was  the  waiting  that  made  them  curse  in  undertones. 
A  few  were  at  prayer  on  the  stone  steps.  Father  Julian 
stood  with  his  crucifix  at  the  top  of  the  stairway,  and  began 
to  chant  the  "  Miserere " ;  some  few  voices  followed 
him. 

In  the  inner  court  Colgran's  men  surged  in  their  hun- 
dreds like  an  impatient  sea.  They  had  trampled  down  the 
garden,  overthrown  the  urns  and  statues,  pulped  the 
flowers  under  their  feet.  On  the  outer  walls  archers 
marked  every  window  of  the  keep.  In  the  inner  court 
cannoneers  were  training  the  gaping  muzzle  of  a  bombard 
against  the  gate.  A  sullen  and  perpetual  clamour  sounded 
round  the  grey  walls,  like  the  roar  of  breakers  about  a  head- 
land. 

Flavian  stood  on  the  dais  of  the  banqueting  hall  and 

237 


238  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

listened  to  the  voices  of  the  mob  without.  Yeoland, 
in  the  harness  Fulviac  had  given  her,  held  at  his  side. 
The  man's  beaver  was  up,  and  he  looked  pale,  but  calm 
and  resolute  as  a  Greek  god.  That  morning  his  own 
armour,  blazoned  with  the  Gambrevault  arms,  had  dis- 
appeared from  his  bed-side,  a  suit  of  plain  black  harness 
left  in  its  stead.  No  amount  of  interrogation,  no 
command,  had  been  able  to  wring  a  word  from  his 
knights  or  esquires.  So  he  wore  the  black  armour  now 
perforce,  and  prepared  to  fight  his  last  fight  like  a  gentle- 
man and  a  Christian. 

Yeoland's  hand  rested  in  his,  and  they  stood  side  by 
side  like  two  children,  looking  into  each  other's  eyes. 
There  was  no  fear  on  the  girl's  face,  nothing  but  a  calm 
resolve  to  be  worthy  of  the  hour  and  of  her  love,  that 
buoyed  her  like  a  martyr.  The  man's  glances  were 
very  sad,  and  she  knew  well  what  was  in  his  heart  when 
he  looked  at  her.  They  had  taken  their  vows,  vows  that 
bound  them  not  to  survive  each  other. 

"  Are  you  afraid,  little  wife  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  content." 

"  Strange  that  we  should  come  to  this.  My  heart 
grieves  for  you." 

"  Never  grieve  for  me ;  I  do  not  fear  the  unknown." 

"We  shall  go  out  hand  in  hand." 

"  To  the  shore  of  that  eternal  sea ;  and  I  feel  no  wind, 
and  hear  no  moaning  of  the  bar." 

44  The  stars  are  above  us." 

"  Eternity." 

"  No  mere  glittering  void." 

"  But  the  face  of  God." 

A  cannon  thundered ;  a  sudden,  sullen  roar  followed, 
a  din  of  clashing  swords,  the  noise  of  men  struggling  in 
the  toils. 

"  They  have  broken  in." 

Flavian's  grasp  tightened  on  her  wrist  j  his  face  was 
rigid,  his  eyes  stern. 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  239 

"  Be  strong,"  he  said. 

"  I  am  not  afraid." 

41  The  Virgin  bless  you." 

The  uproar  increased  below.  The  rebels  were  storming 
the  stairway ;  they  came  up  and  up  like  a  rising  tide  in  the 
mazes  of  a  cavern.  A  wave  of  struggling  figures  surged 
into  the  hall :  men,  cursing,  stabbing,  hewing,  writhing  on 
the  floor,  a  tangle  of  humanity.  Flavian's  knights  in  the 
hall  ranged  themselves  to  hold  the  door. 

It  was  then  that  Flavian  saw  his  own  state  armour 
doing  duty  in  the  press,  its  blazonings  marking  out 
the  wearer  to  the  swords  of  Colgran's  men.  It  was 
Godamar,  Flavian's  esquire,  who  had  stolen  his  lord's 
harness,  and  now  fought  in  it  to  decoy  death,  and 
perhaps  save  his  master.  The  mute  heroism  of  the  deed 
drew  Flavian  from  the  dais. 

"  I  would  speak  with  Godamar,"  he  said. 

"  Do  not  leave  me." 

"  Ah  !  dear  heart ;  when  the  last  wave  gathers  I  shall  be 
at  your  side." 

Yeoland,  with  her  poniard  bare  in  her  hand,  stood  and 
watched  the  tragic  despair  of  that  last  fight,  the  struggling 
press  of  figures  at  the  door  —  the  few  holding  for  a  while 
a  mob  at  bay.  Her  eyes  followed  the  man  in  the  black 
harness ;  she  saw  him  before  the  tossing  thicket  of  pikes 
and  partisans ;  she  saw  his  sword  dealing  out  death  in 
that  Gehenna  of  blasphemy  and  blood. 

A  crash  of  shattered  glass  came  unheard  in  the  uproar. 
Men  had  planted  ladders  against  the  wall,  and  broken  in  by 
the  oriel ;  one  after  another  they  sprang  down  into  the  hall. 
The  first  crept  round  by  the  wainscotting,  climbed  the  dais, 
seized  Yeoland  from  behind,  and  held  her  fast. 

As  by  instinct  the  poniard  had  been  pointed  at  her  own 
throat ;  the  thing  was  twisted  out  of  her  hand,  and  tossed 
away  along  the  floor.  She  struggled  with  the  man  in  a 
kind  of  frenzy,  but  his  brute  strength  was  too  stiff  and  stark 
for  her.  Even  above  the  moil  and  din  Flavian  heard  her 


240  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

cry  to  him,  turned,  sprang  back,  to  be  met  by  the  men  who 
had  entered  by  the  oriel.  They  hemmed  him  round  and 
hewed  at  him,  as  he  charged  like  a  boar  at  bay.  One,  two 
were  down.  Swords  rang  on  his  harness.  A  fellow  dodged 
in  from  behind  and  stabbed  at  him  under  the  arm.  Yeo- 
land  saw  the  black  figure  reel,  recover  itself,  reel  again,  as 
a  partisan  crashed  through  his  vizor.  His  sword  clattered 
to  the  floor.  So  Colgran's  men  cut  the  Lord  Flavian  down 
in  the  sight  of  his  young  wife. 

The  scene  appeared  to  transfer  itself  to  an  infinite  dis- 
tance ;  a  mist  came  before  the  girl's  eyes ;  the  uproar 
seemed  far,  faint,  and  unreal.  She  tried  to  cry  out,  but  no 
voice  came ;  she  strove  to  move,  but  her  limbs  seemed  as 
stone.  A  sound  like  the  surging  of  a  sea  sobbed  in  her 
ears,  and  she  had  a  confused  vision  of  men  being  hunted 
down  and  stabbed  in  the  corners  of  the  hall.  A  mob  of 
wolf-like  beings  moved  before  her,  cursing,  cheering,  bran- 
dishing smoking  steel.  She  felt  herself  lifted  from  her  feet, 
and  carried  breast-high  in  a  man's  arms.  Then  oblivion 
swept  over  her  brain. 


PART    IV 


XXXVII 

FORTUNE  had  not  blessed  the  cause  of  the  people  with  that 
torrential  triumph  toiled  for  by  their  captains.  The  flood 
of  war  had  risen,  had  overwhelmed  tall  castles  and  goodly 
cities,  yet  there  were  heights  that  had  baulked  its  frothy 
turmoil,  mountains  that  had  hurled  it  back  upon  the  valleys. 
Victory  was  like  a  sphere  of  glass  tossed  amid  the  foam  of 
two  contending  torrents. 

In  the  west,  Sir  Simon  of  Imbrecour,  that  old  leopard 
wise  in  war,  had  raised  the  royal  banner  at  his  castle  of 
Avray.  The  nobles  of  the  western  marches  had  joined 
him  to  a  spear;  many  a  lusty  company  had  ridden  in,  to 
toss  sword  and  shield  in  faith  to  the  King.  From  his  castle 
of  Avray  Sir  Simon  had  marched  south  with  the  flower  of 
the  western  knighthood  at  his  heels.  He  had  caught  Malgo 
on  the  march  from  Conan,  even  as  his  columns  were  de- 
filing from  the  mountains.  Sir  Simon  had  leapt  upon  the 
wild  hillsmen  and  rebel  levies  like  the  fierce  and  shaggy 
veteran  that  he  was.  A  splendid  audacity  had  given  the 
day  as  by  honour  to  the  royal  arms.  Malgo's  troops  had 
been  scattered  to  the  winds,  and  he  himself  taken  and  be- 
headed on  the  field  under  the  black  banner  of  the  house  of 
Imbrecour. 

In  the  east,  Godamar  the  free-lance  lay  with  his  troops 
in  Thorney  Isle,  closed  in  and  leaguered  by  the  warlike 
Abbot  of  Rocroy.  The  churchman  had  seized  the  dyke- 
ways  of  the  fens,  and  had  hemmed  the  rebels  behind  the 
wild  morasses.  As  for  the  eastern  folk,  they  were  poor 
gizardless  creatures ;  having  faced  about,  they  had  declared 
for  the  King,  and  left  Godamar  to  rot  within  the  fens. 

243 


244  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

The  free-lance  had  enough  ado  to  keep  the  abbot  out.  His 
marching  to  join  Fulviac  was  an  idle  and  strategetical 
dream. 

Last  of  all,  the  barons  of  the  north  —  fierce,  rugged  auto- 
crats, had  gathered  their  half-barbarous  retainers,  and  were 
marching  on  Lauretia  to  uphold  the  King.  They  were 
grim  folk,  flint  and  iron,  nurtured  amid  the  mountains  and 
the  wild  woods  of  the  north.  They  marched  south  like 
Winter,  black  and  pitiless,  prophetic  of  storm-winds,  sleet, 
and  snow.  Some  forty  thousand  men  had  gathered  round 
the  banner  of  Sir  Morolt  of  Gorm  and  Regis,  and,  like  the 
Goths  pouring  into  Italy,  they  rolled  down  upon  the  luxu- 
rious provinces  of  the  south. 

Fortune  had  decreed  that  about  Lauretia,  the  city  of  the 
King,  the  vultures  of  war  should  wet  their  talons.  It  was 
a  rich  region,  gemmed  thick  with  sapphire  meres  set  in 
deep  emerald  woods.  Lauretia,  like  a  golden  courtesan,  lay 
with  her  white  limbs  cushioned  amid  gorgeous  flowers. 
Her  bosom  was  full  of  odours  and  of  music ;  her  lap  lit- 
tered with  the  fragrant  herbs  of  love.  No  perils,  save  those 
of  moonlit  passion,  had  ever  threatened  her.  Thus  it  be- 
fell that  when  the  storm-clouds  gathered,  she  cowered 
trembling  on  her  ivory  couch,  the  purple  wine  of  pleasure 
soaking  her  sinful  feet. 

In  a  broad  valley,  five  leagues  south  of  the  city,  Fulviac's 
rebels  fought  their  first  great  fight  with  Richard  of  the  Iron 
Hand.  A  warrior's  battle,  rank  to  rank  and  sword  to  sword, 
the  fight  had  burnt  to  the  embers  before  the  cressets  were 
red  in  the  west.  Fulviac  had  headed  the  last  charge  that 
had  broken  the  royal  line,  and  rolled  the  shattered  host 
northwards  under  the  cloak  of  night.  Dawn  had  found 
Fulviac  marching  upon  Lauretia,  eager  to  let  loose  the  lusts 
of  war  upon  that  rich  city  of  sin.  He  was  within  three 
leagues  of  the  place,  when  a  jaded  rider  overtook  him,  to 
tell  of  Malgo's  death  and  of  the  battle  in  the  west.  Yet 
another  league  towards  the  city  his  outriders  came  galloping 
back  with  the  news  that  the  northern  barons  had  marched 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  245 

in  and  joined  the  King.  Outnumbered,  and  threatened  on 
the  flank,  Fulviac  turned  tail  and  held  south  again,  trusting 
to  meet  Godamar  marching  from  the  fens. 

He  needed  the  shoulders  of  an  Atlas  those  September 
days,  for  rumour  burdened  him  with  tidings  that  were 
ominous  and  heavy.  Godamar  lay  impotent,  hedged  in 
the  morasses ;  Malgo  was  dead,  his  mountaineers  scattered. 
Sir  Simon  of  Imbrecour  was  leading  in  the  western  lords 
to  swell  the  following  of  the  King.  Vengeance  gathered 
hotly  on  the  rebel  rear,  as  Fulviac  retreated  by  forced 
marches  towards  the  south. 

It  was  at  St.  Gore,  a  red-roofed  town  packed  on  a 
hill,  amid  tall,  dreaming  woods,  that  Colgran,  with  the 
ten  thousand  who  had  leaguered  Gambrevault,  drew  to  the 
main  host  again.  Fulviac  had  quartered  a  portion  of  his 
troops  in  the  town,  and  had  camped  the  rest  in  the 
meadows  without  the  crumbling,  lichen-grown  walls.  He 
had  halted  but  for  a  night  on  the  retreat  from  Lauretia, 
and  had  taken  a  brief  breath  in  the  moil  and  sweat  of  the 
march.  His  banner  had  been  set  up  in  the  market-square 
before  a  rickety  hostel  of  antique  tone  and  temper.  His 
guards  lounged  on  the  benches  under  the  vines ;  his  cap- 
tains drank  in  the  low-ceilinged  rooms,  swore  and  argued 
over  the  rough  tables. 

It  was  evening  when  Colgran's  vanguard  entered  the 
town  by  the  western  gate.  His  men  had  tramped  all  day 
in  the  sun,  and  were  parched  and  weary.  None  the  less, 
they  stiffened  their  loins,  and  footed  it  through  the  streets 
with  a  veteran  swagger  to  show  their  mettle.  Fulviac 
came  out  and  stood  in  the  wooden  gallery  of  the  inn, 
watching  them  defile  into  the  market-square.  They  tossed 
their  pikes  to  him  as  they  poured  by,  and  called  on  him  by 
name  — 

"  Fulviac,  Fulviac  !  " 

He  was  glad  enough  of  their  coming,  for  he  needed 
men,  and  the  rough  forest  levies  were  in  Colgran's  ranks. 
Ten  thousand  pikes  and  brown  bills  to  bristle  up  against 


246  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

the  King's  squadrons  !  There  was  strength  in  the  glitter 
and  the  rolling  dust  of  the  columns.  Yet  before  all,  the 
man's  tawny  eyes  watched  for  a  red  banner,  and  a  woman 
in  armour  upon  a  white  horse,  Yeoland,  wife  of  Flavian 
of  Gambrevault. 

In  due  season  he  saw  her,  a  pale,  spiritless  woman,  wan 
and  haggard,  thin  of  neck  and  dark  of  eye.  The  bloom 
seemed  to  have  fallen  from  her  as  from  the  crushed  petals 
of  a  rose.  The  red  banner,  borne  by  a  man  upon  a  black 
horse,  danced  listlessly  upon  its  staff.  She  rode  with  slack 
bridle,  looking  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left, 
but  into  the  vague  distance  as  into  the  night  of  the  past. 

Around  her  tramped  Colgran's  pikemen  in  jerkins  of 
leather  and  caps  of  steel.  The  woman  moved  with  them 
as  though  they  were  so  many  substanceless  ghosts,  stalking 
like  shadows  down  the  highway  of  death.  Her  face  was 
bloodless,  bleached  by  grievous  apathy  and  chill  pride.  The 
bronzed  faces  round  her  were  dim  and  unreal,  a  mob  of 
masks,  void  of  life  and  meaning.  Sorrow  had  robed  her 
in  silent  snow.  The  present  was  no  more  propitious  to 
her  than  a  winter  forest  howling  under  the  moon. 

Before  the  hostelry  the  column  came  to  a  halt  with 
grounded  pikes.  The  woman  on  the  white  horse  stirred 
from  her  stupor,  looked  up,  and  saw  Fulviac.  He  was 
standing  with  slouched  shoulders  in  the  gallery  above  her, 
his  hands  gripping  the  wooden  rail.  Their  eyes  met  in 
a  sudden  mesmeric  stare  that  brought  badges  of  red  to 
the  girl's  white  cheeks.  There  was  the  look  upon  his 
face  that  she  had  known  of  old,  when  perilous  care 
weighed  heavy  upon  his  stubborn  shoulders.  His  eyes 
bewildered  her.  They  had  a  light  in  them  that  spoke 
neither  of  anger  nor  reproach,  yet  a  look  such  as  Arthur 
might  have  cast  upon  fallen  Guinivere. 

They  took  her  from  her  horse,  and  led  her  mute  and 
passive  into  the  steel-thronged  inn.  Up  a  winding  stair 
she  was  brought  into  a  sombre  room  whose  latticed  case- 
ments looked  towards  the  west.  By  an  open  window 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  247 

stood  Fulviac,  chin  on  chest,  his  huge  hands  clasped 
behind  his  back.  Colgran,  in  dusky  harness,  was  speaking 
to  him  in  his  rough,  incisive  jargon.  The  woman  knew 
that  the  words  concerned  her  heart.  At  a  gesture  from 
Fulviac,  the  free-lance  cast  a  fierce  glance  at  her,  and 
retreated. 

The  man  did  not  move  from  the  window,  but  stood 
staring  in  morose  silence  at  the  reddening  west.  Hunched 
shoulders  and  bowed  head  gave  a  certain  powerful  pathos 
to  the  figure  statuesque  and  silent  against  the  crimson 
curtain  of  the  sky.  The  very  air  of  the  room  seemed 
burdened  and  saturated  with  the  gloomy  melancholy  of 
the  man's  mood.  War,  with  its  thousand  horrors, 
furrowed  his  brow  and  bowed  his  great  shoulders  beneath 
its  bloody  yoke.  Her  woman's  instinct  told  her  that  he 
was  lonely,  for  the  soul  that  had  ministered  to  him  breathed 
for  him  no  more. 

He  turned  on  her  suddenly  with  a  terse  greeting  that 
startled  her  thoughts  like  doves  in  a  pine  wood. 
"  Welcome  to  you,  Lady  of  Gambrevault." 
There  was  a  bluff  bitterness  in  his  voice  that  forewarned 
her  of  his  ample  wisdom.  Colgran  had  surrendered  her, 
heart  and  tragedy  in  one,  to  Fulviac's  mercy.  A  looming 
cloud  of  passion  shadowed  the  man's  face,  making  him 
seem  gaunt  and  rough  to  her  for  the  moment.  She  remem- 
bered him  standing  over  Duessa's  body  in  Sforza's  palace  at 
Gilderoy.  Life  had  too  little  promise  for  her  to  engender 
fear  of  any  man,  even  of  Fulviac  at  his  worst. 

"  I  trust,  Madame  Yeoland,  that  you  are  merry  ?  " 
The  taunt  touched  her,  yet  she  answered  him  listlessly 
enough. 

u  Do  what  you  will ;  scoff  if  it  pleases  you." 
Fulviac  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  tossed  his  lion's  mane 
from  his  broad  forehead. 

"  It  is  a  grim  world  this,"  he  said ;  "  when  thrones 
burn,  should  we  seek  to  quench  them  with  our  tears ! 
Whose  was  the  fault  that  God  made  you  too  much  a 


248  LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS 

woman  ?  Red  heart,  heart  of  the  rose,  a  traitorous  com- 
rade art  thou,  and  an  easy  foe." 

She  had  no  answer  on  her  lips,  and  he  turned  and 
paced  the  room  before  her,  darting  swift  glances  into  her 
face. 

"  So  they  killed  him  ?  "  he  said,  more  quietly  anon ; 
"  poor  child,  forget  him,  it  was  the  fate  of  war.  Even  to 
the  grave  he  took  the  love  I  might  never  wear." 

She  shuddered  and  hid  her  face. 

"  Fulviac,  have  pity  !  " 

«  Pity  ?  " 

"  This  is  a  judgment,  God  help  my  soul !  " 

"  A  judgment  ?  " 

"  For  serving  my  own  heart  before  the  Virgin's  words." 

The  man  stopped  suddenly  in  his  stride,  and  looked  at 
her  as  though  her  words  had  touched  him  like  a  bolt 
betwixt  the  jointings  of  his  harness.  There  was  still  the 
morose  frown  upon  his  face,  the  half  closure  of  the  lids 
over  the  tawny  eyes.  He  gripped  his  chin  with  one  of 
his  bony  hands,  and  turned  his  great  beak  of  a  nose  upwards 
with  a  gesture  of  self-scorn. 

"  Since  the  damned  chicanery  of  chance  so  wills  it,"  he 
said,  "  I  will  confess  to  you,  that  my  confession  may  ease 
your  conscience.  The  Madonna  in  that  forest  chapel  was 
framed  of  flesh  and  blood." 

«  Fulviac  ! " 

"  Of  flesh  and  blood,  my  innocent,  tricked  out  to  work 
my  holy  will.  We  needed  a  Saint,  we  cleansers  of  Christen- 
dom ;  ha,  noble  justiciaries  that  we  are.  Well,  well,  the 
Virgin  served  us,  and  tripped  back  to  a  warm  nest  at  Gilde- 
roy,  reincarnated  by  high  heaven." 

Yeoland  stood  motionless  in  the  shadows  of  the  room, 
like  one  striving  to  reason  amid  the  rush  of  many  thoughts. 
She  showed  no  wrath  at  her  betrayal ;  her  pale  soul  was 
too  white  for  scarlet  passion.  The  significance  of  life  had 
vanished  in  a  void  of  gloom.  She  stood  like  Hero  striving 
to  catch  her  lover's  voice  above  the  moan  of  the  sea. 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  249 

Fulviac  unbuckled  his  sword  and  threw  it  with  a  crash 
upon  the  table.  He  thrust  his  arms  above  his  head, 
stretched  his  strong  sinews,  took  deep  breaths  into  his 
knotted  throat. 

"  The  truth  is  out,"  he  said  to  her ;  "  come,  madame, 
confess  to  me  in  turn." 

Yeoland  faced  him  with  quivering  lips,  and  a  tense 
straining  of  her  fingers. 

"  What  have  I  to  tell  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Nothing  ?  " 

"Save  that  I  loved  the  Lord  Flavian,  and  that  he  is 
dead." 

"  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof." 

"  Ah,  you  are  avenged,"  she  said,  "  you  have  crushed  my 
heart ;  may  the  thought  comfort  you." 

Her  parched  apathy  seemed  to  elapse  of  a  sudden,  and 
she  lost  her  calmness  in  an  outburst  of  passion.  She  was 
athirst  for  solitude,  to  be  cloistered  from  the  rough  cavil  of 
the  world.  Colour  glowed  upon  her  sunken  cheeks  as  she 
stretched  out  her  arms  to  the  man  with  a  piteous  vehemence. 

"Fulviac " 

"  Girl." 

"Ah,  for  God's  love,  end  now  this  mockery.  Take 
this  armour  from  me,  for  it  burns  my  bosom.  Let  me  go, 
that  I  may  hide  my  wounds  in  peace." 

"  Peace  !  "  he  said,  with  a  twinge  of  scorn. 

"  Fulviac,  can  you  not  pity  me  ?  I  am  broken  and 
bruised,  men  stare  and  jeer.  Oh,  my  God,  only  to  be  out 
of  sight  and  alone  !  " 

The  man  stood  by  the  window  looking  out  into  the  sky 
with  lowering  brows.  The  west  burnt  red  above  the 
house-tops ;  from  the  street  came  the  noise  of  men 
marching. 

"  Do  not  kill  yourself,"  he  said  with  laconic  brevity. 

"  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  " 

"There  is  truth  in  the  suspicion." 

"  Ah,  what  is  life  to  me  ! " 


250  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

"We  Christians  still  have  need  of  you." 

The  man's  seeming  scorn  scourged  her  anguish  to  a 
shrill  despair.  The  hot  blood  swept  more  swiftly  through 
her  worn,  white  body. 

"  Cursed  be  your  ambition,"  she  said  to  him  ;  "  must  you 
torture  .me  before  the  world  ?  " 

"  Perhaps." 

"  I  renounce  this  lying  part." 

"  As  you  will,  madame  ;  it  will  only  make  you  look  the 
greater  fool." 

"  Ah,  you  are  brutal." 

He  turned  to  her  with  the  look  of  one  enduring  un- 
uttered  anguish  in  the  spirit.  His  strong  pride  throttled 
passion,  twisting  his  rough  face  into  tragic  ugliness. 

"  No,  believe  it  not,"  he  said ;  "  I  desire  even  for  your 
heart's  sake  that  you  should  make  the  best  of  an  evil 
fortune.  Learn  to  smile  again  ;  pretend  to  a  zest  in  life. 
I  have  fathomed  hell  in  my  grim  years,  and  my  words  are 
true.  Time  loves  youth  and  recovers  its  sorrow.  Know 
this  and  ponder  it :  'tis  better  to  play  the  hypocrite  than  to 
suffer  the  world  to  chuckle  over  one's  tears." 


XXXVIII 

THE  royal  host  had  massed  about  the  walls  of  Lauretia, 
and  marched  southwards  to  surprise  Fulviac  at  St.  Gore. 
Half  the  chivalry  of  the  land  had  gathered  under  the 
standard  of  the  King.  Sir  Simon  of  Imbrecour  had  come 
in  from  the  west  with  ten  thousand  spears  and  five  thousand 
bowmen.  The  Northerners  under  Morolt  boasted  them- 
selves twoscore  thousand  men,  and  there  were  the  loyal 
levies  of  the  midland  provinces  to  march  under  "  The 
Golden  Sun  "  upon  the  south.  Never  had  such  panoply 
of  war  glittered  through  the  listening  woods.  Their  march 
was  as  the  onrush  of  a  rippling  sea  ;  the  noise  of  their  trum- 
pets as  the  cry  of  a  tempest  over  towering  trees. 

Chivalry,  golden  champion  of  beauty,  had  much  to 
avenge,  much  to  expurgate.  The  peasant  folk  had  plunged 
the  land  into  ruin  and  red  war.  Castles  smoked  under  the 
summer  sky ;  the  noble  dead  lay  unburied  in  the  high  places 
of  pride.  To  the  wolf  cry  of  the  people  there  could  be  no 
answer  save  the  hiss  of  the  sword.  Before  the  high  altar 
at  Lauretia,  the  King  had  sworn  on  relics  and  the  Scrip- 
tures, to  deal  such  vengeance  as  should  leave  the  land 
cowering  for  centuries  in  terror  of  his  name. 

Southwards  from  St.  Gore  there  stretched  for  some 
fifteen  leagues  the  province  of  La  Belle  Foret,  a  region 
of  rich  valleys  and  romantic  woods,  green  and  quiet  under 
the  tranquil  sky.  Its  towns  were  mere  gardens,  smothered 
deep  in  flowers,  full  of  cedars  and  fair  cypresses.  Its 
people  were  simple,  happy,  and  devout.  War  had  not  set 
foot  there  for  two  generations,  and  the  land  overflowed 

251 


252  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

with  the  good  things  of  life.  Its  vineyards  purpled  the 
valleys  ;  its  pastures  harboured  much  cattle.  Its  houses 
were  filled  with  rich  furniture  and  silks,  chests  laden 
with  cloth  of  gold,  caskets  of  gems,  ambries  packed  with 
silver  plate.  The  good  folk  of  La  Belle  Foret  had  held 
aloof  from  the  revolt.  Peace-loving  and  content  in  their 
opulence,  they  had  no  fondness  for  anarchy  and  war. 

It  was  into  this  fair  province  that  Fulviac  led  his  arms 
on  the  march  south  for  Gilderoy  and  the  great  forest  by 
the  sea.  Belle  Foret,  neutral  and  luxurious,  was  spoil  for 
the  spoiler,  stuff  for  the  sword.  Plundering,  marauding, 
burning,  butchering,  Fulviac's  rebels  poured  through  like 
a  host  of  Huns.  Strength  promised  licence ;  there  was 
little  asceticism  in  the  cause,  though  the  sacred  banner 
flew  in  the  van  with  an  unction  that  was  truly  pharisaical. 
From  that  flood  of  war,  the  provincials  fled  as  from  a 
plague.  It  was  Fulviac's  policy  to  devastate  the  land,  to 
hinder  the  march  of  the  royal  host.  Desolation  spread 
like  winter  over  the  fields ;  Fulviac's  ravagers  left  ruin 
and  despair  and  a  great  silence  to  mark  their  track. 

The  march  became  a  bloody  parable  before  three  days 
had  passed.  Fulviac  had  taken  burning  faggots  upon  his 
back,  and  the  iron  collar  of  war  weighed  heavy  on  him 
that  autumn  season.  It  was  a  grim  moral  and  a  terrible. 
He  had  called  up  fiends  from  hell,  and  their  antics  mocked 
him.  Storm  as  he  would,  even  his  strong  wrath  was  like 
fire  licking  at  granite.  Death  taunted  him,  and  Murder 
rode  as  a  witness  at  his  side.  The  mob  of  mad  humanity 
was  like  a  ravenous  sea,  hungry,  pitiless,  and  insatiate. 
Even  his  stout  heart  was  shocked  by  the  bestial  passions 
war  had  roused.  His  men  were  mutinous  to  all  restraint. 
Fight  they  would  when  he  should  marshal  them  ;  but  for 
their  lusts  they  claimed  a  wolf-like  and  delirious  liberty. 

Yeoland  the  Saint  rode  on  her  white  horse  through  La 
Belle  Foret,  like  a  pale  ghost  dazed  by  the  human  miseries 
of  war.  A  captive,  she  had  surrendered  herself  to  Fate ; 
her  heart  was  as  a  sea-bird  wearied  by  long  bufferings  in 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  253 

the  wind.  There  was  no  desire  in  her  for  life,  no  spark  of 
passion,  no  hope  save  for  the  sounding  of  a  convent  bell. 
She  imagined  calmly  the  face  of  death.  Her  grave 
stretched  green  and  quiet  to  her  fancy,  under  some  forest 
tree. 

Even  her  hebetude  of  soul  gave  way  at  last  before  the 
horrors  of  that  bloody  march.  She  saw  towns  smoulder- 
ing and  flames  licking  the  night  sky,  heard  walls  crack 
and  roofs  fall  with  a  roar  and  an  uprushing  of  fire.  She 
saw  the  peasant  folk  crouching  white  and  stupefied  about 
their  ruined  homes.  She  heard  the  cry  of  the  children,  the 
wailing  of  women,  the  cracked  voices  of  old  men  cursing 
Fulviac  as  he  rode  by.  She  saw  the  crops  burnt  in  the 
fields ;  cattle  slaughtered  and  their  carcases  left  to  rot  in 
the  sun. 

The  deeds  of  those  grim  days  moved  in  her  brain  with 
a  vividness  that  never  abated.  War  with  all  its  ruthless- 
ness,  its  devilry,  its  riotous  horror,  burnt  in  upon  her  soul. 
The  plash  of  blood,  the  ruin,  the  despair,  appalled  her  till 
she  yearned  and  hungered  for  the  end.  Life  seemed  to 
have  become  a  hideous  purgatory,  flaming  and  shrieking 
under  the  stars. 

She  appealed  to  Fulviac  with  the  vehemence  of  despair. 
The  man  was  obdurate  and  moody,  burdened  by  the 
knowledge  that  these  horrors  were  beyond  him.  His 
very  impotence  was  bitterness  itself  to  his  strong  spirit. 
In  the  silent  passion  of  his  shame,  he  buckled  a  sullen 
scorn  about  his  manhood,  scoffed  and  mocked  when  the 
woman  pleaded.  He  was  like  a  Titan  struggling  in  the 
toils  of  Fate,  flinging  forth  scorn  to  mask  his  anguish. 
He  had  let  war  loose  upon  the  land,  and  the  riot  mocked 
him  like  a  turbulent  sea. 

One  noon  they  rode  together  through  a  town  that  had 
closed  its  gates  to  them,  and  had  been  taken  by  assault. 
On  the  hills  around  stood  the  solemn  woods  watching 
in  silence  the  scene  beneath.  Corpses  stiffened  in  the 
gutters ;  children  shrieked  in  burning  attics,  By  the  cross 


254  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

in  the  market-square  soldiers  were  staving  in  wine  casks, 
the  split  lees  mingling  with  the  blood  upon  the  cobbles. 
Ruffians  rioted  in  the  streets.  Lust  and  violence  were 
loose  like  wolves. 

Fulviac  clattered  through  the  place  with  Yeoland  and 
his  guards,  a  tower  of  steel  amid  the  reeking  ruins.  He 
looked  neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  the  left,  but  rode  with 
set  jaw  and  sullen  visage  for  the  southern  gate,  and  the 
green  quiet  of  the  fields.  His  tawny  eyes  smouldered 
under  his  casque ;  his  mouth  was  as  stone,  stern  yet 
sorrowful.  He  spoke  never  a  word,  as  though  his 
thoughts  were  too  grim  for  the  girl's  ears. 

Yeoland  rode  at  his  side  in  silence,  shivering  in  thought 
at  the  scenes  that  had  passed  before  her  eyes.  She  was  as 
a  lily  whose  pure  petals  quailed  before  the  sprinkling  plash 
of  blood.  Her  soul  was  of  too  delicate  a  texture  for  the 
rude  blasts  of  war. 

She  turned  on  Fulviac  anon,  and  taunted  him  out  of  the 
fulness  of  her  scorn. 

"This  is  your  crusade  for  justice,"  she  said  to  him; 
"  ah,  there  is  a  curse  upon  us.  You  have  let  fiends  loose." 

He  did  not  retort  to  her  for  the  moment,  but  rode 
gazing  into  the  gilded  glories  of  the  woods.  Even  earth's 
peace  was  bitter  to  him  at  that  season,  but  bitterer  far  was 
the  woman's  scorn. 

"  War  is  war,"  he  said  to  her  at  last ;  "  we  cannot  leave 
the  King  fat  larders." 

"  And  all  this  butchery,  this  ruin  ?  " 

"  Blame  war  for  it." 

"  And  brutal  men." 

"  Mark  you,"  he  said  to  her,  with  some  deepening  of 
his  voice,  "  I  am  no  god  ;  I  cannot  make  angels  of  devils. 
The  sea  has  risen,  can  I  cork  it  in  a  bottle,  or  tie  the 
storm  wind  up  in  a  sack  ?  Give  me  my  due.  I  am  human, 
not  a  demi-god." 

She  understood  his  mood,  and  pitied  him  in  measure, 
for  he  had  a  burden  on  his  soul  sufficient  for  a  Hercules. 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  255 

His  men  were  half  mutinous ;  they  would  fight  for  him, 
but  he  could  not  stem  their  lusts.  He  was  as  a  stout  ship 
borne  upon  the  backs  of  riotous  waves. 

u  Well  would  it  have  been,"  she  said,  "  if  you  had  never 
raised  this  storm." 

"  It  is  easy  to  be  wise  at  the  eleventh  hour,"  he  answered 
her. 

"  Can  you  not  stay  it  even  now  ?  " 

"  Woman,  can  I  stem  the  sea  !  " 

"  The  blood  of  thousands  dyes  your  hands." 

He  twisted  in  the  saddle  as  though  her  words  gored  him 
to  the  quick.  His  face  twitched,  his  eyes  glittered. 

"  My  God,  keep  silence  !  " 

"  Fulviac." 

"  Taunt  me  no  longer.  Have  I  not  half  hell  boiling  in 
my  heart  ?  " 

Thus  Fulviac  and  his  rebels  passed  on  spoiling  towards 
Gilderoy  and  the  sea,  where  Sforza  lay  camped  with  forces 
gathered  from  the  south.  The  great  forest  beckoned  them ; 
they  knew  its  trammels,  and  hoped  for  strategies  therein. 
Like  a  vast  web  of  gloom  it  proffered  harbour  to  the  wolves 
of  war,  for  they  feared  the  open,  and  the  vengeful  onrush 
of  the  royal  chivalry. 

Meanwhile,  the  armies  of  the  King  came  down  upon 
Belle  Foret,  a  great  horde  of  steel.  From  its  black  ashes 
the  country  welcomed  them  with  the  dumb  lips  of  death. 
Ruin  and  slaughter  appealed  them  on  the  march;  the 
smoke  of  war  ascended  to  their  nostrils.  Fierce  was  the 
cry  for  vengeance  in  the  ranks,  as  the  host  poured  on  like 
a  golden  dawn  treading  on  the  dark  heels  of  night. 


XXXIX 

IN  a  cave  whose  narrow  mouth  cut  a  rough  cameo  from 
the  snow  and  azure  of  the  sky,  a  man  lay  sleeping  upon  a 
bed  of  heather.  The  surge  of  the  sea  rose  from  the 
bastions  of  the  cliff,  where  foam  glittered  and  swirled  over 
the  black  rocks  that  thrust  their  dripping  brows  above  the 
tide.  Gulls  were  winging  over  the  waves,  whose  green 
crests  shone  brilliant  under  the  sun.  On  a  distant  head- 
land, bleak  and  sombre,  the  towers  of  a  castle  broke  the 
turquoise  crescent  of  the  heavens. 

In  one  corner  of  the  cave  a  feeble  fire  flickered,  the 
smoke  therefrom  curling  along  the  roof  to  vanish  in  a 
thin  blue  plume  of  vapour.  Beside  the  bed  lay  a  pile  of 
armour,  with  a  broken  casque  like  a  cleft  skull  to  crown 
it.  Dried  herbs  and  a  loaf  of  rye  bread  lay  on  a  flat 
boulder  near  the  fire.  The  figure  on  the  heather  was 
covered  by  a  stained  yet  gorgeously  blazoned  surcoat, 
that  seemed  an  incongruous  quilt  for  such  a  couch.  Near 
the  cave's  entry  a  great  axe  glittered  on  the  floor,  an  axe 
whose  notched  edge  had  tested  the  metal  of  many  a 
bassinet. 

Down  a  rough  path  cut  in  the  face  of  the  cliff  scrambled 
a  gaunt,  hollow-chested  figure,  doubleted  in  soiled  scarlet, 
battered  shoes  on  feet,  a  black  beard  bristling  on  the  stub- 
born chin.  A  red  cloth  was  bound  about  the  man's  head. 
He  breathed  hard  as  he  clambered  down  the  cliff,  as  though 
winded  by  fast  running.  Sweat  stood  on  his  forehead. 
Beneath  him  ran  the  sea,  a  pit  of  foam,  swirling  and  mut- 
tering amid  the  rocks.  * 

He  reached  the  entry  of  the  cave  and  dived  therein  like 

256 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS 

a  fox  into  an  "  earth."  Standing  by  the  bed,  he  looked  for 
a  moment  at  the  unconscious  figure  with  the  air  of  one 
unwilling  to  wake  a  weary  comrade  from  his  sleep.  At 
last  he  went  down  on  his  knees  by  the  heather,  and 
touched  the  sleeping  man's  cheek  with  the  gentle  gesture 
of  a  woman.  The  figure  stirred  at  the  touch ;  two  thin 
hands  groped  over  the  green  and  azure  quilt.  The  kneel- 
ing man  gripped  them  in  his  great  brown  paws,  and  held 
them  fast. 

«  Modred." 

The  voice  was  toneless,  husky,  and  without  spirit. 

«  Sire." 

"  Ah,  these  waking  moments.  It  had  been  better  if 
you  had  let  me  rot  in  Gambrevault." 

"  Courage,  sire,  you  wake  to  a  better  fortune." 

"  There  is  new  life  in  your  voice." 

u  The  King  has  come  at  last." 

The  man  on  the  heather  raised  himself  upon  one  elbow. 
His  face  looked  grey  and  starved  in  the  half  gloom  of  the 
cave.  He  lifted  up  one  hand  with  a  gesture  of  joy. 

«  The  King  !  " 

Modred  of  the  black  beard  smiled  at  him  like  a  father. 
His  hands  trembled  as  he  put  the  man  back  gently  on  the 
heather,  and  smoothed  the  coverlet. 

"  Lie  still,  sire." 

"  Ah,  this  is  life,  once  more." 

"  Patience,  patience.  Let  us  have  no  woman's  moods, 
no  raptures.  Ha,  I  am  a  tyrannous  dog.  Did  I  drag  you 
for  dead  out  of  Gambrevault  to  let  you  break  your  heart 
over  Richard  of  Lauretia !  Lie  quiet,  sire ;  you  have  no 
strength  to  gamble  with  as  yet." 

The  man  on  the  heather  reached  out  again  for  Modred's 
hand. 

"  The  rough  dog  should  have  been  born  a  woman,"  he 
said  to  him. 

Modred  laughed. 

"  There  is  a  great  heart  under  that  hairy  chest  of  yours." 


258  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

The  moist  mutterings  of  the  sea  came  up  to  them  from 
the  rocky  shore  beneath.  Clouds  in  white  masses  pressed 
athwart  the  arch  of  day.  Modred,  seated  on  a  boulder  be- 
side the  bed,  eyed  the  prostrate  figure  thereon  with  a  gaunt 
and  tender  pity.  He  was  a  stark  man  and  strenuous,  yet 
warm  of  heart  for  all  his  bull's  strength  and  steely  sinew. 
Youth  lay  at  his  feet,  thin  and  impotent,  a  white  willow 
wand  quivering  beside  a  black  and  knotty  oak. 

Modred  rose  up  and  stood  by  the  opening  of  the  cave, 
his  broad  shoulders  well-nigh  filling  the  entry  as  he  looked 
out  over  the  sea.  Far  over  the  amethystine  waters,  a  hun- 
dred pearl-white  sails  glimmered  beyond  the  cliffs  of  Gam- 
brevault.  The  sun  smote  on  gilded  prow  and  blazoned 
bulwark,  and  upon  a  thousand  streamers  tonguing  to  the 
breeze. 

Modred  stretched  out  his  great  arms  and  smiled,  a  grim 
shimmer  of  joy  over  his  ruffian's  face.  Standing  at  the 
mouth  of  the  cave,  he  began  to  speak  to  the  man  couched 
in  the  inner  gloom. 

"  Yonder,  beyond  Gambrevault,"  he  said,  "  I  see  a  hun- 
dred sails  treading  towards  us  over  the  sea.  They  are  the 
King's  ships  :  God  cherish  them ;  their  bulwarks  gleam  in 
the  sun." 

Flavian  twisted  restlessly  amid  the  heather. 

"A  grand  sight,  old  friend." 

Modred  stood  silent,  fingering  his  chin.  His  voice 
broke  forth  again  with  a  bluff  exultation  that  seemed  to 
echo  the  roar  of  the  waves. 

"  St.  Philip,  that  is  well." 

"  More  ships  ?  " 

"  Nay,  sire,  they  raise  the  royal  banner  on  the  keep  of 
Gambrevault.  I  see  spears  shine.  Listen  to  the  shout- 
ing. The  King's  men  hold  the  headland." 

This  time  the  voice  from  the  cave  was  less  eager, 
and  tinged  with  pain. 

"  Modred,  old  friend,  I  lie  here  like  a  stone  while  the 
trumpets  call  to  me." 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  259 

"Sire,  say  not  s.o." 

"Ah,  for  an  hour's  youth  again,  one  day  in  the  sun, 
one  moment  under  the  moon." 

"  Sire,  I  would  change  with  you  if  God  would  grant  it 
me." 

"  Bless  you,  old  friend ;  I  would  not  grant  it  you  if  I 
were  God." 

A  trumpet  cried  to  them  from  the  cliff,  sudden,  shrill, 
and  imperious.  Modred,  leaning  against  the  rock  with  his 
hand  over  his  eyes,  started  from  the  cave,  and  began  to 
climb  the  path.  He  muttered  and  swore  into  his  beard  as 
he  ascended,  queer  oaths,  spasmodic  and  fantastic.  His 
black  eyes  were  hazy  for  the  moment.  Contemptuous 
and  fervid,  he  brushed  the  tears  away  with  a  great  brown 
hand. 

On  the  green  downs  above  him  rolling  to  the  peerless 
sky,  he  saw  armour  gleam  and  banners  blush.  A  fan- 
fare of  trumpets  rolled  over  the  sea.  It  was  Richard  the 
King. 

Modred  bent  at  the  royal  stirrup,  and  kissed  the  jewelled 
hand.  Above  him  a  keen,  steely-eyed  visage  looked  out 
from  beneath  a  gold-crowned  bassinet.  It  was  the  face  of 
a  soldier  and  a  tyrant,  handsome,  haughty,  yet  opulently 
gracious.  The  red  lips  curled  under  the  black  tusks  of 
the  long  moustache.  The  big,  clean-shaven  jaw  was  a 
promontory  of  marble  thrust  forth  imperiously  over  the 
world. 

"  Well,  man,  what  of  our  warden  ?  " 

Modred  crossed  himself,  pointed  to  the  cliff,  muttered  a 
few  words  into  the  King's  ear. 

"  So,"  came  the  terse  response,  "  that  was  an  evil  for- 
tune. So  splendid  a  youth,  a  bright  beam  of  chivalry. 
Come,  lead  me  to  him." 

The  royal  statue  of  steel  dismounted  and  stalked  down 
with  knights  and  heralds  towards  the  cliff.  Leaning  upon 
Modred's  shoulder,  Richard  of  the  Iron  Hand  trod  the 
rough  path  leading  to  the  little  cave.  He  bowed  his 


260  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

golden  crown  at  the  entry,  stooped  like  a  suppliant,  stood 
before  the  Lord  Flavian's  bed. 

The  gloom  troubled  him  for  a  moment.  Anon,  he  saw 
the  recumbent  figure  on  the  heather,  the  pile  of  harness, 
the  brown  loaf,  and  the  meagre  fire.  He  throned  himself 
on  the  boulder  beside  the  bed,  and  laid  a  white  hand  on 
the  sick  man's  shoulder. 

"  Lie  still,"  he  said,  as  Flavian  turned  to  rise  ;  "  to-day, 
my  lord,  we  can  forego  ceremony." 

Courtesy  is  the  golden  crown  of  power,  forged  from  a 
poet's  song,  and  the  wisdom  of  the  gods.  The  royal 
favour  donned  its  robe  of  red  that  day,  proffered  its 
gracious  signet  to  the  lips  of  praise,  held  forth  the  sceptre 
of  a  radiant  pity.  Even  the  iron  of  truth  becomes  as 
silver  on  the  lips  of  kings.  Justice  herself  flatters,  when 
ranged  in  simple  white  before  a  royal  throne. 

"  My  Lord  of  Gambrevault,"  quoth  Richard  of  the  Iron 
Hand,  "  be  it  known  to  you  that  your  stout  walls  have 
saved  my  kingdom.  You  held  the  barbican  of  loyalty  till 
true  friends  rallied  to  the  country's  citadel.  Bravely  have 
you  sounded  your  clarions  in  the  gate  of  fame.  My  lord, 
I  give  to  you  the  gratitude  of  a  king." 

Flattery  strutted  in  the  cave,  gathering  her  robes  with 
jewelled  hand,  gorgeous  as  an  Eastern  queen.  Con- 
cerning the  fate  of  a  certain  rebel  Saint,  the  royal  pardon 
waxed  patriarchal  in  laconic  phrases. 

"  Say  no  more,  my  lord ;  the  boon  is  yours.  Have  I 
not  a  noble  woman  queening  it  beside  me  on  my  throne, 
flinging  the  beams  of  her  bright  eyes  through  all  my  life  ? 
This  quest  shall  be  heralded  to  the  host  j  I  will  offer 
gold  for  the  damsel's  capture.  Take  this  ring  from  me,  no 
pledge  as  betwixt  Jews,  but  as  a  talisman  of  good  to  come." 

So  spoke  the  royal  gratitude.  When  the  King  had 
gone,  Modred  returned  to  carry  his  lord  heavenwards  to 
the  meadows.  He  found  him  prone  upon  the  heather, 
covering  his  eyes  with  his  thin  hands  as  the  western 
sunlight  streaked  the  gloom. 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  261 

"Sire,"  said  Modred,  kneeling  down  beside  the  bed. 

The  effigy  on  the  heather  stirred  itself  and  reached  out  a 
hand  into  Modred's  bosom. 

41  Man,  man,  I  am  in  great  darkness  of  soul.  Who  shall 
comfort  me  !  " 

Modred  bent  to  him,  laid  a  great  palm  on  the  white 
forehead. 

"  Courage,  sire,  courage." 

"  Ah,  the  pity  of  it,  to  lie  here  like  a  log  when  swords 
ring  and  peril  threatens  her." 

"  Sire,  we  shall  win  her  back  again." 

"  My  God,  only  to  touch  her  hands  once  more,  to  feel 
the  warmth  of  her  pure  bosom,  and  the  thrill  of  her  rich 
hair." 

"  We  shall  win  her,  sire.     Doubt  it  not." 

«  All  life  is  a  doubt." 

"  Before  God,  I  swear  it !  " 

"  Modred  !  " 

"  Before  God,  I  swear  it !  " 

He  sprang  up,  thrust  out  his  arms  till  the  sinews 
cracked,  filled  his  great  chest  with  the  breath  of  the  sea. 
Suddenly  he  stopped,  strained  at  a  rock  lying  at  the  cave's 
mouth,  lifted  it,  and  hurled  it  from  him,  saw  it  smite 
foam  from  the  water  beneath. 

"  Fate,  take  my  gauge,"  he  cried,  with  a  fierce  glorying 
in  his  strength ;  "  come,  sire,  put  your  hands  about  my 
neck.  I  will  bear  you  to  your  castle  of  Gambrevault." 


XL 

FULVIAC  and  his  rebels  had  plunged  into  the  great  pine 
forest  for  refuge  from  the  multitudinous  glitter  of  the  royal 
spears.  The  wilderness  engulfed  them,  throwing  wide  its 
sable  gates  to  take  the  war  wolves  in.  The  trees  moaned 
like  tall  sibyls  burdened  with  prophetic  woe.  The  gold 
had  long  fallen  from  the  gorse ;  the  heather's  purple  hills 
were  dim.  Mystery  abode  there ;  a  sound  as  of  tragedy 
rose  with  the  hoarse  piping  of  the  autumn  wind. 

From  the  north  and  from  the  west  the  royal  "  arms " 
had  drawn  as  a  glittering  net  towards  the  sea  of  pines. 
A  myriad  splendid  warriors  streaked  the  wilds,  like  rich 
rods  flowering  at  some  magic  trumpet  cry.  The  King's 
host  swept  the  hills,  their  banners  blazing  towards  the 
solemn  woods.  Gambrevault  was  theirs,  and  Avalon  of 
the  Mere.  Morolt's  northerners  had  marched  upon  Ge- 
raint,  to  find  it  a  dead  city,  empty  of  life  and  of  human 
sound.  Only  Gilderoy  stood  out  for  Fulviac.  The  King 
had  failed  to  leaguer  it  as  yet,  for  reasons  cherished  in  his 
cunning  brain. 

Some  twoscore  thousand  men  had  marched  with  Fulviac 
into  the  forest's  sanctuary.  Over  the  hills  the  royal  horse 
had  pressed  them  hard,  cutting  down  stragglers,  hanging  on 
their  rear.  Fulviac's  host  was  a  horde  of  "  foot  "  ;  he  had 
not  a  thousand  riders  to  hurl  against  the  chivalry  of  the 
King.  On  the  bold,  bleak  uplands  of  the  north  and  west 
the  royal  horsemen  would  have  whelmed  him  like  a  sea. 
Necessity  turned  strategist  at  that  hour.  Fulviac  and  his 
rebels  poured  with  their  stagnant  columns  into  the  wilds. 

The  thickets  teemed  with  steel ;  the  myriad  pike  points 
glittered  like  silver  moths  through  the  dense  green  gloom. 

262 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  263 

Once  more  the  great  cliff  echoed  to  the  clangour  of  war 
and  the  sword.  Fulviac  had  drawn  thither  and  camped 
his  men  upon  the  heights,  and  under  the  shadow  of  its 
mighty  walls.  Watch-fires  smoked  on  the  hills.  Every 
a41ey  had  its  sentinel,  a  net  of  steel  thrown  forth  to  await 
the  coming  of  the  King.  Fulviac  had  gathered  his  cubs 
into  this  lair,  trusting  to  trammel  the  nobles  in  the  laby- 
rinths of  the  forest.  It  was  a  forlorn  hope,  the  cunning 
purpose  of  despair.  The  spoilers  of  Belle  Foret  were  wise 
in  their  generation  ;  little  mercy  would  they  win  from  the 
Iron  Hand  of  Richard  of  Lauretia. 

Like  a  pale  pearl  set  in  ebony,  Yeoland  the  Saint  had 
been  established  again  in  her  bower  of  stone.  The  room 
was  even  as  she  had  left  it  that  misty  summer  dawn. 
Prayer-desk,  lute,  and  crucifix  were  there,  mute  relics  of 
a  passionate  past.  How  much  had  befallen  her  in  those 
packed  weeks  of  peril ;  how  great  a  guerdon  of  woe  had 
been  lavished  on  her  heart  !  Love  was  as  the  last  streak 
of  gold  in  a  fading  west ;  only  the  stars  recalled  the 
unwavering  lamps  of  heaven. 

The  cliff-room  and  its  relics  tortured  her  very  soul. 
She  would  glance  at  the  Sebastian  of  the  casement,  and 
remember  with  a  shuddering  rush  of  woe  the  man  in 
whose  arms  she  had  slumbered  as  a  wife.  Death  had 
deified  him  in  her  heart.  She  remembered  his  grey  eyes, 
his  splendid  youth,  his  passion,  his  pure  chivalry.  He 
gazed  down  on  her  like  a  dream  hero  from  a  gloom  of 
dusky  gold.  The  bitter  ecstasy  of  the  past  spoke  to  her 
only  of  the  infinite  beneficence  of  death.  The  grave 
yearned  for  her,  and  she  had  no  hope  to  live. 

Those  drear  days  she  saw  little  of  Fulviac.  The  man 
seemed  to  shirk  her  pale,  sad  face  and  brooding  eyes. 
Her  grief  stung  him  more  fiercely  than  all  the  flames 
nurtured  in  the  glowing  pit  of  war.  Moreover,  he  was 
cumbered  with  the  imminent  peril  of  his  cause,  and  the 
facing  of  a  stormy  fortune.  His  one  hope  lay  in  some 
great  battle  in  the  woods,  where  the  King's  mailed  chivalry 


264  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

would  be  cumbered  by  the  trees.  He  made  many  a  feint 
to  tempt  the  nobles  to  this  wild  tussle.  The  cliff  stood  as 
adamant,  a  vast  bulwark  to  uphold  the  rebels.  Yet 
Nature  threatened  him  with  other  arguments.  His  stores 
were  meagre,  his  mouths  many.  Victory  and  starvation 
dangled  upon  the  opposing  beams  of  Fate. 

If  Fulviac  feared  procrastination,  Richard  of  Lauretia 
favoured  the  same.  Wise  sluggard  that  he  was,  he  curbed 
the  vengeance  of  his  clamorous  soldiery,  content  to  tempo- 
rise with  the  inevitable  trend  of  fortune.  His  light  horse 
scoured  the  country,  garnering  food  and  forage  from  the  fat 
lands  north  of  Geraint.  Time  fought  for  him,  and  the 
starving  wolves  were  trapped.  Sufficient  was  it  that  he 
held  his  crescent  of  steel  upon  the  hills,  leaving  unguarded 
the  barren  wilds  that  rolled  on  Gilderoy  towards  the  east. 

A  week  passed,  dull  and  lustreless.  The  forest  waved 
dark  and  solemn  under  the  autumn  sky;  no  torrents  of  steel 
gushed  from  its  sable  gates  ;  no  glittering  squadrons  plunged 
into  its  shadows.  The  King's  men  lay  warm  about  their 
watch-fires  on  the  hills,  fattening  on  good  food,  tingling  for 
the  trumpet  cry  that  should  herald  the  advance.  Richard 
of  the  Iron  Hand  smiled  and  passed  the  hours  at  chess  in 
his  great  pavilion  pitched  on  the  slopes  towards  Geraint. 
Simon  of  Imbrecour  held  the  southern  marches  ;  Morolt 
and  his  northerners  guarded  the  west. 

It  was  grey  weather,  sullen  and  storm-laden,  eerie  of 
voice.  The  Black  Wild  tossed  like  a  sombre  sea  over  hill 
and  valley,  its  spires  rocking  under  the  scurrying  sky,  its 
myriad  galleries  shrill  with  the  cry  of  the  wind.  There 
was  no  rest  there,  no  breathless  silence  under  the  frail  moon. 
The  trees  moaned  like  a  vast  choir  wailing  the  downfall  of 
a  god.  The  wild  seemed  full  of  death,  and  of  the  dead,  as 
though  the  souls  of  those  slaughtered  in  the  war  screamed 
about  Fulviac's  lair.  The  sentinels,  grey  figures  in  a 
sombre  atmosphere,  watched  white-faced  in  the  thickets. 
The  clarions  of  the  storm  might  mask  the  onrush  of  the 
royal  chivalry. 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  265 

Yeoland  the  Saint  lay  full  length  upon  a  carved  settle 
before  a  dying  fire.  She  was  listening  to  the  wind  as  it 
roared  over  the  cliff,  amid  the  shrill  clamour  of  the  trees. 
It  was  such  an  eve  as  when  Flavian  had  rattled  at  the 
postern  to  offer  her  love,  and  a  throne  at  Avalon.  She  had 
spoken  of  war,  and  war  had  sundered  them,  given  death  to 
desire,  and  a  tomb  to  hope.  The  glow  of  the  fire  played 
upon  the  girl's  face  and  shone  in  her  brooding  eyes.  Night 
was  falling,  and  the  gloom  increased. 

She  heard  footsteps  in  the  gallery,  the  clangour  of  a  scab- 
bard against  the  rock.  The  door  swung  back,  and  Fulviac 
stood  in  the  entry,  clad  in  full  harness  save  for  his  casque. 
There  were  deep  furrows  upon  his  forehead.  His  lids 
looked  heavy  from  lack  of  sleep,  and  his  eyes  were  blood- 
shot. The  tinge  of  grey  in  his  tawny  hair  had  increased 
to  a  web  of  silver. 

He  came  in  without  a  word,  set  his  hands  on  the  back 
of  the  settle,  and  stared  at  the  fire.  Yeoland  had  started 
up ;  she  sat  huddled  in  the  angle,  looking  in  his  face  with 
a  mute  surmise.  Fulviac's  face  was  sorrowful,  yet  strong 
as  steel ;  the  lips  were  firm,  the  eyes  sullen  and  sad.  He 
was  as  a  man  who  stared  ruin  betwixt  the  brows,  nor 
quailed  from  the  scrutiny  though  death  stood  ready  on 
the  threshold. 

"  Cloak  yourself,"  he  said  to  her  at  last ;  "  be  speedy ; 
buckle  this  purse  to  your  girdle." 

She  sprang  up  as  the  leather  pouch  rattled  on  the  settle, 
and  stood  facing  Fulviac  with  her  back  to  the  fire. 

"  Whither  do  we  ride  ?  " 

"  I  send  you  under  escort  to  Gilderoy." 

"  And  you  ?  " 

He  smiled,  tightened  his  sword  belt  with  a  vicious  ges- 
ture, and  still  stared  at  the  hearth. 

"  My  lot  lies  here,"  he  said  to  her ;  "  I  meet  my  doom 
alone.  What  need  to  drag  you  deeper  into  the  dark  ?  " 

She  understood  him  on  the  instant,  and  the  black  thoughts 
moving  in  his  mind.  Disasters  thickened  about  the  cliff; 


266  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

perils  were  clamorous  as  the  wind-rocked  trees.  Fulviac 
feared  the  worst ;  she  knew  that  from  his  face. 

"  You  send  me  to  Gilderoy  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  have  so  determined  it." 

"  And  why  ?  " 

"  Need  you  doubt  my  discretion  ?  " 

The  flames  flashed  and  gleamed  upon  his  breastplate, 
and  deepened  the  shadows  upon  his  face.  His  eyes  were 
sorrowful,  yet  full  of  a  strenuous  fire. 

"  The  sky  darkens,"  he  said  to  her,  "  and  the  King's 
hosts  watch  the  forest.  I  had  thought  to  draw  them  into 
the  wilds,  but  the  fox  of  Lauretia  has  smelt  a  snare.  Our 
stores  lessen ;  we  are  in  the  last  trench." 

She  moved  away  into  a  dark  corner  of  the  room,  raised 
the  carved  lid  of  a  chest,  and  began  to  draw  clothes  there- 
from, fingering  them  listlessly,  as  though  her  thoughts 
wavered.  Fulviac  leant  with  folded  arms  upon  the  settle, 
seemed  even  oblivious  of  her  presence  under  the  burden  of 
his  fate. 

"  Fulviac,"  she  said  at  last,  glancing  at  him  over  a 
drooping  shoulder. 

He  turned  his  head  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Must  I  go  then  to  Gilderoy  ?  " 

"  The  road  is  open,"  he  answered,  with  no  obvious 
kindling  of  his  sympathy  ;  "  there  will  be  bloody  work  here 
anon ;  you  will  be  safer  behind  stone  walls." 

"  And  the  King  ?  "  she  asked  him. 

He  straightened  suddenly,  like  a  man  tossing  some  great 
burden  from  ofF  his  soul. 

"  Ha,  girl !  are  you  blind  as  to  what  shall  follow  ? 
Richard  of  the  Iron  Hand  waits  for  us  with  fivescore  thou- 
sand men.  We  shall  fight  —  by  God,  yes  !  —  and  make  a 
bloody  end ;  there  will  be  much  slaughter  and  work  for  the 
sword.  The  King  will  crush  us  as  a  falling  rock  crushes 
a  scorpion.  There  will  be  no  mercy.  Death  waits.  Put 
on  that  cloak  of  thine." 

She  stood  motionless  a  moment,  listening  to  the  moan- 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  267 

ing  of  the  wind.  The  man's  grim  spirit  troubled  her. 
She  remembered  that  he  had  bulwarked  her  in  her  home- 
less days,  had  dealt  her  much  pity  out  of  his  rugged  heart. 
He  was  alone  now,  and  shadowed  by  death.  Thus  it 
befell  that  she  cast  the  cloak  aside  upon  the  bed,  and  stood 
forward  with  quivering  lips  before  the  fire. 

"  Fulviac." 

"  Little  sister." 

"  Ah  !  God  pardon  me ;  I  have  been  a  weak  and  grace- 
less friend.  You  have  been  good  to  me,  beyond  my  grati- 
tude. The  past  has  gone  for  ever ;  what  is  left  to  me 
now  ?  Shall  I  not  meet  death  at  your  side  ? " 

He  stood  back  from  her,  looking  in  her  eyes,  breathing 
hard,  combating  his  own  heart.  He  loved  the  girl  in  his 
fierce,  staunch  way ;  she  was  the  one  light  left  him  in  the 
gathering  gloom.  Now  death  offered  him  her  soul.  He 
tottered,  stretched  out  his  hands  to  her,  snatched  them  back 
with  a  great  burst  of  pride. 

"  No,  this  cannot  be." 

«  Ah ! " 

"  I  have  dared  the  storm ;  alone  will  I  fall  beneath  its 
vengeance.  You  shall  go  this  night  to  Gilderoy." 

She  thrust  out  her  hands  to  him,  but  he  turned  away  his 
face. 

"  Ah  !  little  sister,  this  war  was  conceived  for  God,  but 
the  devil  leavened  it.  I  have  gambled  with  fire,  and  the 
ashes  return  upon  my  head.  I  give  you  life ;  'tis  little  I 
may  give.  Come  now,  obey  me,  these  are  my  last  words." 

She  turned  from  him  very  quietly  in  the  shadow, 
hiding  her  face  with  her  arm.  Picking  up  her  cloak,  she 
drew  it  slowly  about  her  shoulders,  Fulviac  watching  her, 
a  pillar  of  steel. 

"  They  wait  for  you  in  the  forest,"  he  said ;  "  go  down 
the  stair.  Colgran  rides  with  you  to  Gilderoy.  He  is 
to  be  trusted." 

She  drooped  her  head,  staggered  to  the  door,  darted  back 
again  with  a  low  cry  and  a  gush  of  tears. 


268  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

"  Fulviac." 

"  Little  woman." 

"  God  keep  you  !      Kiss  me,  this  once." 

He  bent  to  her,  touched  her  forehead  with  his  lips,  thrust 
her  again  towards  the  door. 

"  Go,  my  child." 

And  she  went  forth  slowly  from  him,  weeping,  into  the 
night. 


XLI 

THE  prophecies  of  the  King  proved  the  power  of  their 
pinions  before  fourteen  suns  had  passed  over  the  Black 
Wild's  heart.  Richard  of  Lauretia  had  plotted  to  starve 
Fulviac  into  giving  him  battle,  or  into  a  retreat  from  the 
forest  upon  Gilderoy.  The  royal  prognostications  were 
pitiless  and  unflinching  as  candescent  steel.  It  was  no 
mere  battle-ground  that  he  sought,  but  rather  an  amphi- 
theatre where  he  might  martyr  the  rebel  host  like  a  mob 
of  revolted  slaves. 

Whatever  tidings  may  have  muttered  on  the  breeze, 
riders  came  in  hotly  to  the  royal  pavilion  towards  the 
noon  of  the  fourteenth  day.  There  was  soon  much  stir 
on  the  hills  hard  by  Geraint.  Knights  and  nobles 
thronged  the  royal  tent,  captains  clanged  shoulders, 
gallopers  rode  south  and  west  with  fiery  despatches  to 
Morolt  and  Sir  Simon  of  Imbrecour.  Battle  breathed 
in  the  wind.  Before  night  came,  the  King's  pavilion 
had  vanished  from  the  hills ;  his  columns  were  winding 
round  the  northern  hem  of  the  forest,  to  strike  the  road 
that  ran  from  Geraint  to  Gilderoy. 

The  royal  scouts  and  rangers  had  not  played  their 
master  false.  A  river  of  steel  was  curling  through  the 
black  depths  of  the  wild,  threading  the  valleys  towards 
the  east.  The  King's  scouts  had  caught  the  glimmer  of 
armour  sifting  through  the  trees.  They  had  slunk  about 
the  rebel  host  for  days  while  they  lay  camped  in  their 
thousands  about  the  clifF.  Colgran  and  his  small  company 
had  passed  through  unheeded,  but  they  were  up  like  hawks 
when  the  whole  host  moved. 

269 


2/0  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

That  midnight  Fulviac's  columns  rolled  from  the  out- 
standing thickets  of  the  wild,  and  held  in  serried  masses 
for  the  road  to  Gilderoy.  The  King's  procrastination  had 
launched  them  on  this  last  desperate  venture.  They 
would  have  starved  in  the  forest  as  Fulviac  had  foreseen  ; 
their  hopes  lay  in  reaching  Gilderoy,  which  was  well  vict- 
ualled, throwing  themselves  therein,  making  what  terms 
they  could,  or  die  fighting  behind  its  walls.  Thus  under 
cover  of  night  they  slipped  from  the  forest,  trusting  to 
leave  the  King's  men  guarding  an  empty  lair. 

The  brisk  forethought  of  Richard  of  Lauretia  had  out- 
gamed  the  rebels,  however,  in  the  hazardous  moves  of  war. 
They  were  answering  to  his  opening  like  wild  duck  paddling 
towards  a  decoy.  Ten  miles  west  of  Gilderoy  there 
stretched  a  valley,  walled  southwards  by  tall  heights,  banded 
through  the  centre  by  the  river  Tamar.  At  its  eastern 
extremity  a  line  of  hills  rolled  down  to  touch  the  river. 
The  road  from  Geraint  ran  through  the  valley,  hugging 
the  southern  bank  of  the  river  after  crossing  it  westwards 
by  a  fortified  bridge.  Fulviac  and  his  host  would  follow 
that  road,  marching  betwixt  the  river  and  the  hills.  It 
was  in  this  valley  that  Richard  of  Lauretia  had  conceived 
the  hurtling  climax  of  the  war. 

Forewarned  in  season,  Sir  Simon  of  Imbrecour  and 
his  bristling  squadrons  were  riding  through  the  night  on 
Gilderoy,  shaping  a  crescent  course  towards  the  east. 
Morolt  and  the  giants  of  the  north  were  striding  in  his 
track,  skirting  the  southern  spires  of  the  forest,  to  press 
level  with  the  rebel  march,  screened  by  the  hills.  The 
King  and  his  Lauretians  came  down  from  Geraint. 
They  were  to  seize  the  bridge  across  the  Tamar,  pour 
over,  and  close  the  rebels  on  the  rear. 

It  was  near  dawn  when  Fulviac's  columns  struck  the  high- 
road from  Geraint,  and  entered  the  valley  where  the  Tamar 
shimmered  towards  Gilderoy.  Mist  covered  the  world, 
shot  through  with  the  gold  threads  of  the  dawn.  The 
river  gleamed  and  murmured  fitfully  in  the  meadows  j 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS 

the  southern  heights  glittered  in  the  growing  day ;  the 
purple  slopes  of  the  Black  Wild  had  melted  dimly  into  the 
west. 

The  mist  stood  dense  in  the  flats  where  the  Geraint 
road  bridged  the  river.  The  northern  slopes  seemed 
steeped  in  vapoury  desolation,  the  road  winding  into  a 
waste  of  green.  Fulviac  and  his  men  marched  on,  chuck- 
ling as  they  thought  of  the  royal  troops  watching  the  empty 
alleys  of  the  forest.  Fulviac  took  no  care  to  secure  the 
bridge  across  the  Tamar.  With  the  line  of  hills  before 
them  breasted,  they  would  see  the  spires  of  Gilderoy, 
glittering  athwart  the  dawn. 

The  columns  were  well  in  the  lap  of  the  valley  before 
two  light  horsemen  came  galloping  in  from  the  far  van, 
calling  on  Fulviac,  who  rode  under  the  red  banner,  that 
the  road  to  Gilderoy  had  been  seized.  Fulviac  and 
Sforza  rode  forward  with  a  squadron  of  horse  to  recon- 
noitre. As  they  advanced  at  a  canter,  the  mists  cleared 
from  the  skirts  of  the  encircling  hills.  Far  to  the  east, 
on  the  green  slopes  that  rolled  towards  the  Tamar,  they 
saw  the  sun  smite  upon  a  thousand  points  of  steel.  Pen- 
nons danced  in  the  shimmering  atmosphere,  shields  flickered, 
armour  shone.  A  torrent  of  gems  seemed  poured  from  the 
dawn's  lap  upon  the  emerald  bosoms  of  the  hills.  They  were 
the  glittering  horsemen  of  Sir  Simon  of  Imbrecour,  who  had 
ridden  out  of  the  night  and  seized  on  the  road  to  Gilderoy. 

Fulviac  halted  his  company,  and  standing  in  the  stirrups, 
scanned  the  hillside  under  his  hand.  He  frowned,  thrust 
forth  his  chin,  turned  on  Sforza  who  rode  at  his  side. 

"  Trapped,"  he  said  with  a  twist  of  the  lip ;  "  Dick  of 
the  Iron  Hand  has  fooled  us.  'Twas  done  cunningly, 
though  it  brings  us  to  a  parlous  passage.  They  hold  the 
road." 

The  Gonfalonierc  tugged  at  his  ragged  beard,  and  looked 
white  under  the  arch  of  his  open  salade. 

"  Better  advance  on  them,"  he  said  ;  "  I  would  give  good 
gold  to  be  safe  in  the  streets  of  Gilderoy." 


272  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

Fulviac  sneered,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  There  are  ten  thousand  spears  on  yonder  slopes,  the 
lustiest  blood  in  the  land.  Count  their  banners  and  their 
pennons,  the  stuff  tells  an  honest  tale.  Pah,  they  would 
drive  our  rapscallions  into  the  river.  Send  back  and  bid  our 
banners  halt." 

They  wheeled  and  cantered  towards  the  long  black 
columns  plodding  through  the  meadows.  Far  to  the  west 
over  the  green  plain  they  saw  spears  flash  against  the  sun, 
a  glimmering  tide  spreading  from  the  river.  The  Laure- 
tians  had  crossed  the  bridge  and  were  hurrying  on  the 
rebels'  heels.  Fulviac's  trumpets  sounded  the  halt.  He 
thundered  his  orders  to  his  captains,  bade  them  mass  their 
men  in  the  meadows,  and  hedge  their  pikes  for  the  crash 
of  battle. 

A  shout  reached  him  from  his  squadrons  of  horse  who 
had  marched  on  the  southern  wing.  They  were  pointing 
to  the  heights  with  sword  and  spear.  Fulviac  reined  round, 
rode  forward  to  some  rising  ground,  and  looked  southwards 
under  his  hand.  The  heights  bounding  the  valley  shone 
with  steel.  A  myriad  glistening  stars  shimmered  under  the 
sun.  Morolt's  northerners  had  shown  their  shields ;  the 
hills  bristled  with  their  bills  and  spears. 

Fulviac  shrugged  his  shoulders,  lowered  his  beaver,  and 
rode  back  towards  his  men.  He  saw  Yeoland  the  Saint's 
red  banner  waving  above  the  dusky  squares.  He  remem- 
bered the  girl's  pale  face  and  the  hands  that  had  toyed  with 
the  gilded  silks  in  the  dark  chamber  upon  the  cliff.  Though 
the  sun  shone  and  the  earth  glistened,  he  knew  in  his  heart 
that  he  should  see  that  face  no  more. 

Richard  of  Lauretia  had  forged  his  crescent  of  steel. 
South,  east,  and  west  the  royal  trumpets  sounded ;  north- 
wards ran  the  Tamar,  closing  the  meadows.  Fulviac  and 
his  men  were  trapped  in  the  green  valley.  A  golden  girdle 
of  chivalry  hemmed  the  mob  in  the  lap  of  the  emerald 
meadows.  All  about  them  blazed  the  panoply  of  war. 

Fulviac,  pessimist  that  he  was,  took  to  his  heart  that 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  273 

hour  the  lofty  tranquillity  of  a  Scandinavian  hero.  His 
courage  was  of  that  stout,  sea-buffeting  fibre  that  stiffened 
its  beams  against  the  tide  of  defeat.  He  set  forth  his  shield, 
tossed  up  his  sword,  rode  through  the  ranks  with  the  spirit 
of  a  Roland.  Life  leapt  the  stronger  in  him  at  the  chal- 
lenge of  the  Black  Raven  of  death.  His  captains  could 
have  sworn  that  he  looked  for  victory  in  the  moil,  so  bluff 
and  strenuous  was  his  mood  that  day. 

Sforza  came  cringing  to  him,  glib-lipped  and  haggard, 
to  speak  of  a  parley.  Fulviac  shook  his  shield  in  the  man's 
white  face,  set  his  ruffians  to  dig  trenches  in  the  meadows, 
and  to  range  the  waggons  as  a  barricade. 

41  Parley,  forsooth,"  quoth  he  ;  "  talk  no  more  to  me  of 
parleys  when  I  have  twoscore  thousand  smiters  at  my  back. 
Let  Dick  of  the  Iron  Hand  come  down  to  us  with  the 
sword.  Ha,  sirs,  are  we  stuffed  with  hay  !  We  will  rattle 
the  royal  bones  and  make  them  dance  a  fandango  to  the 
devil." 

His  spirit  diffused  itself  through  the  ranks  of  the  rough 
soldiery.  They  cheered  wheresoever  he  went,  kindling 
their  courage  like  a  torch,  and  tossed  their  pikes  to  him 
with  strenuous  insolence. 

"  My  children,"  he  would  roar  to  them  as  he  passed, 
"  the  day  has  come,  we  have  drawn  these  skulkers  to  a 
tussle.  See  to  it,  sirs,  let  us  maul  these  velvet  gentlemen, 
these  squires  of  the  cushion.  By  the  Lord,  we  will  feast 
anon  in  Gilderoy,  and  rifle  the  King's  baggage." 

As  for  Richard  of  the  Iron  Hand,  he  was  content  to 
claim  the  arduous  blessings  of  the  day.  He  held  his  men 
in  leash  upon  the  hills,  resting  them  and  their  horses  after 
the  marchings  of  the  night.  Wine  was  served  out ;  clar- 
ions and  sackbuts  sounded  through  the  ranks ;  the  King 
made  his  nobles  a  rich  feast  in  his  pavilion  pitched  by  Sir 
Morolt's  banner.  As  the  day  drew  on,  he  thrust  strong 
outposts  towards  the  meadows,  ordered  his  troops  to  sleep 
through  the  long  night  under  arms.  Their  watch-fires 
gemmed  a  lurid  bow  under  the  sky,  with  Tamar  stringing 


2/4  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

it,  a  chord  of  silver.  In  the  meadows  the  rebel  masses 
lay  a  black  pool  of  gloom  under  the  stars. 

Fulviac  sat  alone  in  his  tent  at  midnight,  his  drawn 
sword  across  his  knees.  His  captains  had  left  him,  some 
to  watch,  others  to  sleep  on  the  grass  in  their  armour, 
Sforza  the  Gonfaloniere  to  sneak  in  the  dark  to  the  King's 
lines.  Silence  covered  the  valley,  save  for  the  voices  of 
the  sentinels  and  the  sound  of  the  royal  trumpets  blowing 
the  changes  on  the  hills.  Their  watch-fires  hung  athwart 
the  sky  like  a  chain  of  flashing  rubies. 

Fulviac  sat  motionless  as  a  statue,  staring  out  into  the 
night.  Death,  like  a  grey  wraith,  stood  beside  his  chair ; 
the  unknown,  a  black  and  unsailed  sea,  stretched  calm  and 
imageless  beneath  his  feet.  Life  and  the  ambition  thereof 
tottered  and  crumbled  like  a  quaking  ruin.  Love  quenched 
her  torch  of  gold.  The  man  saw  the  stars  above  him, 
heard  in  the  silence  of  thought  a  thousand  worlds  surging 
through  the  infinitudes  of  the  heavens.  What  then  was 
this  mortal  pillar  of  clay,  that  it  should  grudge  its  dust  to 
the  womb  of  the  world  ? 

And  ambition  ?  He  thought  of  Yeoland  and  her  wounded 
heart;  of  Gambrevault  and  Avalon;  of  La  Belle  Foret  smok- 
ing amid  its  ruins.  He  had  torched  fame  through  the  land, 
and  painted  his  prowess  in  symbols  of  fire.  Now  that  death 
challenged  him  on  the  strand  of  the  unknown,  should  he, 
Fulviac,  fear  the  unsailed  sea ! 

His  heart  glowed  in  him  with  a  transcendent  insolence. 
Lifting  his  sword,  he  pressed  the  cold  steel  to  his  lips, 
brandished  it  in  the  faces  of  the  stars.  Then,  with  a 
laugh,  he  lay  down  upon  a  pile  of  straw  and  slept. 


XLII 

DAWN  rolled  out  of  the  east,  red  and  riotous,  its  crimson 
spears  streaming  towards  the  zenith.  Over  the  far  towers 
of  Gilderoy  swept  a  roseate  and  golden  mist,  over  the  pine- 
strewn  heights,  over  Tamar  silvering  the  valley.  A  wind 
piped  hoarsely  through  the  thickets,  like  a  shrill  prelude  to 
the  organ-throated  roar  of  war. 

The  landscape  shimmered  in  the  broadening  light,  green 
tapestries  arabesqued  with  gold.  To  the  east,  Sir  Simon's 
multitudinous  squadrons  ran  like  rare  terraces  of  flowers, 
dusted  with  the  scintillant  dew  of  steel.  Westwards 
dwindled  the  long  ranks  of  the  Lauretians.  On  the 
heights,  Morolt's  shields  flickered  in  the  sun.  About  a 
hillock  in  the  valley,  the  rebel  host  stood  massed  in  a  great 
circle,  a  whorl  of  helmets,  bills,  and  pikes;  Fulviac's  red 
pavilion  starred  the  centre  like  the  red  roof  of  a  church 
rising  above  a  town. 

On  the  southern  heights,  Richard  of  Lauretia  had 
watched  the  dawn  rise  behind  the  towers  of  Gilderoy. 
He  was  on  horseback,  in  full  panoply  of  war,  his  gorgeous 
harness  and  trappings  dazzling  the  sun.  Knights,  nobles, 
trumpeters  were  round  him,  a  splendid  pool  of  chivalry, 
while  east  and  west  stretched  the  ranks  of  the  grim  and 
gigantic  soldiery  of  the  north. 

Hard  by  the  royal  standard  with  its  Sun  of  Gold,  a 
corpse  dangled  from  the  branch  of  a  great  fir.  It  swayed 
slightly  in  the  wind,  black  and  sinister  against  the  gilded 
curtain  of  the  dawn.  It  was  the  body  of  Sforza  the 
adventurer  from  the  south,  Gonfalon iere  of  Gilderoy, 
whom  the  King  had  hanged  to  grace  his  double  treachery. 

275 


2/6  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

As  the  light  increased,  sweeping  along  the  glittering 
frieze  of  war,  Morolt  of  Gorm  and  Regis  stood  forward 
before  the  King.  He  was  a  lean  man,  tall  and  vigorous 
as  a  bow  of  steel,  his  black  eyes  darting  fire  under  his 
thatch  of  close-cropped  hair.  The  nobles  had  put  him 
forward  that  morning  as  a  man  born  to  claim  a  boon  upon 
the  brink  of  battle.  Fierce  and  virile,  he  bared  his  sword 
to  the  sun,  and  pointed  with  mailed  hand  to  the  rebel  host 
in  the  valley. 

"  Sire,  a  boon  for  your  loyal  servants." 

The  King's  face  was  as  a  mask  of  steel  heated  to  white 
heat,  ardent  and  pitiless.  He  had  the  spoilers  of  his  king- 
dom under  his  heel,  and  was  not  the  man  to  flinch  at 
vengeance. 

"  Say  on,  Morolt,  what  would  ye  ?  " 

"  We  are  men,  sire,  and  these  wolves  have  slaughtered 
our  kinsfolk." 

"  Am  I  held  to  be  a  lamb,  sirs !  " 

A  rough  laugh  eddied  up.     Morolt  shook  his  sword. 

"  Give  them  into  our  hand,  sire,"  he  said ;  "  there  shall 
be  no  need  of  ropes  and  dungeons." 

The  iron  men  cheered  him.  Richard  the  King  lifted 
up  his  baton ;  his  strong  voice  swept  far  in  the  hush  of  the 
dawn. 

"Sirs,"  he  said  to  them,  "take  the  Black  Leopard  of 
Imbrecour  for  your  pattern,  rend  and  slay,  let  none  escape 
you.  Every  man  of  my  host  wears  a  white  cross  on  his 
sword  arm.  Let  that  badge  only  stay  your  vengeance. 
As  for  these  whelps  of  treason,  they  have  butchered  our 
children,  shamed  our  women,  clawed  and  torn  at  their 
King's  throne.  To-day  who  thinks  of  mercy  !  Go  down, 
sirs,  to  the  slaughter." 

A  roar  of  joy  rose  from  those  rough  warriors ;  they 
tossed  their  swords,  gripped  hands  and  embraced,  called  on 
the  saints  to  serve  them.  Strong  passions  were  loose, 
steaming  like  the  incense  of  sacked  cities  into  heaven. 
There  was  much  to  avenge,  much  to  expurgate.  That 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  277 

day  their  swords  were  to  drink  blood ;  that  day  they  were 
to  crush  and  kill. 

In  the  valley,  Fulviac's  huge  coil  of  humanity  lay  sullen 
and  silent,  watching  the  spears  upon  the  hills.  Their 
russets  and  sables  contrasted  with  the  gorgeous  colouring 
of  the  feudalists.  The  one  shone  like  a  garden  ;  the  other 
resembled  a  field  lying  fallow.  The  romance  and  pomp 
of  war  gathered  to  pour  down  upon  the  squalid  realism  of 
mob  tyranny.  Beauty  and  the  beast,  knight  and  scullion 
faced  each  other  on  the  stage  that  morning. 

Gallopers  were  riding  east  and  west  bearing  the  King's 
commands  to  Sire  Julian,  Duke  of  Layonne,  who  headed 
the  Lauretians,  and  to  Simon  of  Imbrecour  upon  the  hills. 
The  King  would  not  tempt  the  moil  that  day,  but  left  the 
sweat  and  thunder  of  it  to  his  captains,  content  to  play  the 
Caesar  on  the  southern  heights.  His  commands  had  gone 
forth  to  the  host.  The  first  assault  was  to  be  made  by 
twenty  thousand  northmen  under  Morolt,  and  a  like  force 
under  Julian  of  Layonne.  The  whole  crescent  of  steel 
was  to  contract  upon  the  meadows,  and  consolidate  its  iron 
wall  about  Fulviac  and  his  rebels.  Simon  of  Imbrecour 
was  to  leash  his  chivalry  from  the  first  rush  of  the  fight. 
His  knights  should  ride  in  when  the  rebel  ranks  were 
broken. 

An  hour  before  noon,  the  royal  trumpets  blew  the 
advance,  and  a  great  shout  surged  through  the  shimmering 
ranks. 

"  Advance,  Black  Leopard  of  Imbrecour." 

"  Advance,  Golden  Sun  of  Lauretia." 

"  Advance,  Grey  Wolf  of  the  North." 

With  clarions  and  fifes  playing,  drums  beating,  banners 
blowing,  the  whole  host  closed  its  semilune  of  steel  upon 
the  dusky  mass  in  the  meadows.  The  northerners  were 
chanting  an  old  Norse  ballad,  a  grim,  ice-bound  song  of  the 
sea  and  the  shriek  of  the  sword.  Sir  Simon's  spears  were 
rolling  over  the  green  slopes,  their  trumpets  and  bugles 
blowing  merrily.  From  the  west,  the  Lauretians  were 


2/8  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

coming  up  with  their  pikes  dancing  in  the  sun.  The 
thunder  of  the  advance  seemed  to  shake  the  hills. 

Fulviac  watched  the  feudalists  from  beneath  his  banner 
in  the  meadows.  His  captains  were  round  him,  grim  men 
and  silent,  girding  their  spirits  for  the  prick  of  battle. 

"  By  St.  Peter,"  said  the  man  under  the  red  flag, 
"  these  fireflies  come  on  passably.  A  fair  host  and  a  splen- 
did. If  their  courage  suits  their  panoply,  we  shall  have 
hot  work  to-day." 

"  Faith,"  quoth  Colgran,  who  had  returned  from  Gilde- 
roy,  "  I  would  rather  sweep  a  flower-garden  than  a  muck- 
heap.  We  are  good  for  twice  their  number,  massed  as  we 
are  like  rocks  upon  a  sea-shore." 

"  To  your  posts,  sirs,"  were  Fulviac's  last  words  to 
them  ;  "  whether  we  fall  or  conquer,  what  matters  it  if  we 
die  like  men  !  " 

Billows  of  red,  green,  and  blue,  dusted  with  silver, 
Morolt  and  his  Berserkers  rolled  to  the  charge.  They 
had  cast  aside  their  pikes,  and  taken  to  shield  and  axe,  such 
axes  as  had  warred  in  the  far  past  for  the  faith  of  Odin. 
Fulviac's  rebels  had  massed  their  spears  into  a  hedge  of 
steel,  and  though  Morolt's  men  came  down  at  a  run,  the 
spear  points  stemmed  the  onrush  like  a  wall. 

Despite  this  avalanche  of  iron,  the  rebel  ring  stove  off 
the  tide  of  war.  They  were  stout  churls  and  hardy, 
these  peasant  plunderers ;  death  admonished  them ;  despair 
tightened  their  sinews  and  propped  up  their  shields. 
The  shimmering  flood  swirled  on  their  spear  points  like 
tawny  billows  tossing  round  a  rock.  It  lapped  and  eddied, 
rushed  up  in  spray,  seeking  an  inlet,  yet  finding  none. 
The  Lauretian  feudatories  had  swarmed  to  the  charge. 
Fulviac  withstood  them,  and  held  their  panoply  at  bay. 

Richard  the  King  watched  the  battle  from  the  southern 
heights.  He  saw  Morolt's  men  roll  down,  saw  the  fight 
seethe  and  glitter,  swirl  in  a  wild  vortex  round  the  rebel 
spears.  The  war  wolves  gathered,  the  tempest  waxed, 
and  still  the  black  ring  held.  Like  steel  upon  a  granite 


LOVE  AMONG   THE  RUINS  279 

rock  the  onslaughts  sparked  on  it,  but  clove  no  breach. 
Under  the  late  noon  sun  the  valley  reeked  with  dust  and 
din.  The  royal  host  was  as  a  dragon  of  gold,  gnashing 
and  writhing  about  an  iron  tower. 

It  was  then  that  the  King  smote  his  thigh,  plucked  off 
his  signet,  sent  it  by  Bertrand  his  herald  to  Sir  Simon  and 
his  knights. 

"  Go  down  at  the  gallop,"  ran  the  royal  bidding,  "  cleave 
me  this  rock,  and  splinter  it  to  dust.  Spare  neither  man  nor 
horse.  Cleave  in  or  perish." 

The  black  banner  of  Imbrecour  flapped  forth ;  the 
trumpets  clamoured.  Sir  Simon's  knights  might  well 
have  graced  Boiardo's  page,  and  girded  Albracca  with 
their  stalwart  spears.  They  tightened  girths,  set  shields 
for  the  charge,  and  rode  down  nobly  to  avenge  or  fall. 

As  a  great  ship  sails  to  break  a  harbour  boom,  so  did 
the  squadrons  of  the  King  crash  down  with  fewtred  spears 
on  Fulviac's  host.  They  rode  with  the  wind,  leaping 
and  thundering  like  an  iron  flood.  No  slackening  was 
there,  no  wavering  of  this  ponderous  bolt.  It  rushed 
like  a  huge  rock  down  a  mountain's  flank,  smoking  and 
hurtling  on  the  wall  of  spears. 

The  corn  was  scythed  and  trodden  under  foot.  Ranks 
rocked  and  broke  like  earth  before  a  storm-scourged  sea. 
The  spears  of  Imbrecour  flashed  on,  smote  and  sucked 
vengeance,  cleaving  a  breach  into  the  core  of  war.  The 
knights  slew,  took  scarlet  for  their  colour,  and  made 
the  moment  murderous  with  steel.  Into  the  breach  the 
King's  wolves  followed  them ;  Morolt's  grim  axemen 
stumbled  in,  rending  and  hurling  the  black  mass  to  shreds. 
Battle  became  butchery.  The  day  was  won. 

What  boots  it  to  chronicle  the  scene  that  travelled  as 
a  forest  fire  in  the  track  of  Sir  Simon's  chivalry  ?  The 
iron  hand  of  the  King  closed  upon  the  wrecked  victims 
in  the  valley.  Knight  and  noble  trampled  the  peasantry  ; 
rapine  and  lust  were  put  to  the  sword.  The  Blatant 
Beast  was  slain  by  the  spear  of  Romance.  The  boor  and 


280  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

the  demagogue  were  trodden  as  straw  before  the  threshing- 
floor  of  vengeance.  The  fields  were  a  shroud  of  scarlet ; 
Tamar  ran  like  wine;  thorn  and  bramble  were  fruited 
red  with  blood.  On  the  heights  the  tall  pines  waved 
over  the  splendid  masque  of  death. 

It  was  late  in  the  day  when  Morolt  and  his  hillsmen, 
with  certain  of  Sir  Simon's  knights,  forced  their  way 
through  the  wreckage  of  the  fight,  to  the  hillock  where 
stood  the  banner  of  the  Saint.  South,  east,  and  west  the 
rout  bubbled  into  the  twilight,  a  riot  of  slaughter  seeth- 
ing to  the  distant  woods.  About  Yeoland's  banner  had 
gathered  the  last  of  the  Forest  brotherhood,  grey  wolves 
red  to  the  throat  with  battle.  Sullen  and  indomitable, 
they  had  gathered  in  a  dusky  knot  of  steel  as  the  day  sped 
into  the  kindling  west.  Even  Morolt's  fierce  followers 
stood  still,  like  hounds  that  had  brought  the  boar  to  bay. 
Simon  of  Imbrecour  spurred  out  before  the  spears,  lifted 
a  shattered  sword,  and  called  on  Fulviac  by  name. 

"  Traitor,  we  challenge  ye." 

A  burly  figure  in  harness  of  a  reddish  hue  towered  up 
beneath  the  fringe  of  the  banner  of  the  Saint.  He  carried 
an  axe  slanted  over  his  shoulder,  as  he  stood  half  a  head 
above  the  tallest  of  his  men.  As  Sir  Simon  challenged 
him,  he  lifted  his  salade,  and  bared  his  face  to  the  war  dogs 
who  hemmed  him  in. 

"  Black  Leopard  of  the  West,  we  meet  again." 

The  Lord  of  Imbrecour  peered  at  him  keenly  from 
under  his  vizor. 

"  Come,  sirs,  and  end  it,"  quoth  the  man  in  red, "  buffet 
for  buffet,  and  sword  to  sword.  I  fling  ye  a  gauge  to 
death  and  the  devil.  Come,  sirs,  let  us  end  itj  I  bide 
my  time." 

Morolt  sprang  forward  with  sword  aloft. 

"  Traitor  and  rebel,  I  have  seen  your  face  before." 

Fulviac  laughed,  a  brave  burst  of  scorn.  He  tossed  his 
axe  to  them,  and  spread  his  arms. 

"  Ha,  Morolt,  I  have  foined  with  ye  of  old.     Saints  and 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  28 1 

martyrs,  have  I  avenged  myself  upon  the  lap-dogs  of  the 
court !  Here  will  we  fight  our  last  battle.  Bury  me,  sirs, 
as  Fulk  of  Argentin,  the  King's  brother,  whom  men 
thought  dead  these  seven  years." 

A  sudden  silence  hovered  above  that  remnant  of  a  beaten 
host.  The  red  banner  drooped,  hung  down  about  its  staff. 
Morolt,  uttering  a  strange  cry,  smote  his  bosom  with  his 
iron  hand.  Old  Simon  crossed  himself,  turned  back  and 
rode  thence  slowly  from  the  field. 

Morolt's  voice,  gruff  and  husky,  sounded  the  charge. 
When  he  and  his  war  dogs  had  made  an  end,  they  took 
Fulviac's  head  and  bore  it  wrapped  in  Yeoland's  banner  to 
the  King. 


XLIII 

UNDER  the  starry  pall  of  night,  the  last  cry  of  the  clarion 
of  tragedy  sounded  over  wood  and  meadow.  Gilderoy, 
proud  city  of  the  south,  had  closed  her  gates  against  the 
royal  host,  wise  at  the  eleventh  hour  as  to  the  measure  of 
the  King's  mercy.  The  wreckage  from  the  battle  in  the 
valley  had  washed  on  Tamar's  bosom  past  the  walls, 
corpses  jostling  each  other  in  the  stream  of  death.  Vul- 
tures had  hovered  in  the  azure  sky.  There  was  no  doom 
for  Gilderoy  save  the  doom  of  the  sword. 

The  moon  rose  red  amid  a  whorl  of  dusky  clouds,  veiled 
as  with  scarlet  for  the  last  orgies  of  war.  Gilderoy  had 
been  carried  by  assault.  Morolt's  barbarians  were  pouring 
through  the  streets ;  the  gates  yawned  towards  the  night ; 
bells  boomed  and  clashed.  The  townsfolk  were  scurrying 
like  rats  for  the  great  square  where  the  remnant  of  the  gar- 
rison had  barricaded  the  entries,  gathering  for  a  death- 
struggle  under  the  umbrage  of  the  cathedral  towers. 

Richard  the  King  had  ridden  into  Gilderoy  by  the 
northern  gate  with  Sir  Simon  of  Imbrecour  and  a  strong 
guard  of  knights  and  men-at-arms.  Fulviac's  head  danced 
on  a  spear  beside  the  Golden  Banner  of  Lauretia.  The 
citadel  had  opened  its  gates  to  Sire  Julian  of  Layonne.  In 
the  square  before  the  ruined  abbey  of  the  Benedictines  the 
King  and  his  nobles  gathered  to  await  the  judgment  of 
the  hour. 

A  great  bell  boomed  through  the  night,  a  deep  pant- 
ing sound  in  the  warm  gloom.  Torrents  of  steel  clashed 
through  the  narrow  streets,  gleaming  under  the  torch  flare, 
bubbling  towards  the  last  rampart  of  revolt.  From  the 

282 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  283 

cathedral  square  arose  a  wild,  whimpering  outcry,  the 
wailing  of  women  mingling  with  the  hoarse  clamour  of  the 
last  assault. 

Word  was  brought  to  the  King  by  one  of  Morolt's 
esquires,  that  the  townsfolk  were  holding  the  great  square 
behind  their  barricades,  and  pouring  a  hot  fire  from  the 
houses  upon  his  troops.  Morolt  desired  the  King's  ring 
and  his  commands  before  taking  to  the  resource  of  the 
sword.  Richard  of  the  Iron  Hand  was  in  no  mood  for 
mercy.  His  decree  went  forth  from  before  the  gate  of  the 
ruined  abbey. 

"  Consider  no  church  as  a  sanctuary.  Fire  the  houses 
about  the  square.  Gilderoy  shall  burn." 

The  city's  doom  was  sealed  by  those  iron  words.  The 
torch  took  up  the  handiwork  of  the  sword.  A  gradual 
glow  began  to  rise  above  the  house-tops ;  smoke  billowed 
up,  black  and  voluminous,  dusted  with  a  myriad  ruddy 
stars.  Flames  rose  from  casement  and  from  gable,  from 
chimney,  spirelet,  roof,  and  tower.  The  houses  were  faced 
with  wood,  dry  as  tinder,  crisp  for  the  torch  as  a  summer- 
bleached  prairie.  The  flames  ran  like  a  red  flood  from 
roof  to  roof,  with  a  roar  as  from  huge  reptiles  battling  in  a 
burning  pit.  The  great  square,  with  the  glittering  pin- 
nacles of  its  cathedral,  was  girded  in  with  fire  and  sword. 

Men  were  stabbing  and  hewing  upon  the  barricades 
where  Morolt's  feudatories  had  stormed  up  from  the 
gloom  of  the  streets.  Beneath  the  light  of  the  burning 
houses,  swords  were  tossed,  the  dead  forgotten  and  trodden 
under  foot.  It  was  not  long  before  the  barriers  were 
carried  by  assault  and  the  avengers  of  Belle  Foret  poured 
pitiless  into  the  great  square. 

The  citizens  of  Gilderoy  had  packed  their  women  and 
children  into  the  sanctuary  of  the  cathedral  choir.  They 
were  penned  there  amid  the  gorgeous  gildings  of  the  place, 
a  shivering  flock  swarming  in  the  frescoed  chapels,  huddled 
beneath  the  painted  figures  of  the  saints.  The  glow  of 
the  burning  city  beat  in  through  the  jewelled  glass,  building 


284  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RVINS 

the  huge  aisles  in  a  glittering  cavern  windowed  with  living 
gems.  Darkness  and  dawn  struggled  and  fought  under  the 
thundering  vaults.  From  without  came  the  wild  babel,  the 
hoarse  death-moan  of  a  people. 

In  the  great  square  the  fight  went  on,  a  ruthless  melee, 
strong  and  terrible.  Gilderoyhad  slaughtered  her  noblesse. 
She  made  expiation  for  the  deed  that  night  with  the  heart's 
blood  of  her  children.  Vengeance  and  despair  grappled 
and  swayed  in  that  great  pit  of  death.  The  blazing  streets 
walled  in  a  red  inferno,  where  passions  ran  like  Satanic 
wine.  Gilderoy,  proud  city  of  the  south,  quivered  and 
expired  beneath  the  iron  gauntlet  of  the  King. 

Modred  of  Gambrevault  moved  through  the  press  with 
Morolt  of  the  North  fighting  at  his  side.  They  had  a 
common  quest  that  night,  a  common  watchword,  chasten- 
ing the  vengeance  of  their  men. 

"  Seek  the  Saint.     Save  Yeoland  of  Gambrevault." 

It  was  as  a  hoarse  shout,  feeble  and  futile  amid  the  bluster 
of  a  storm.  What  hope  was  there  for  this  pale-faced 
Madonna  amid  the  burning  wreck  of  Gilderoy  ?  She  was 
as  a  lily  in  a  flaming  forest.  Modred  sought  for  her  with 
voice  and  sword,  thinking  of  Flavian  and  the  vow  upon  the 
cliff".  Though  the  city  lightened,  black  Modred's  heart 
was  steeped  in  gloom.  Death  and  despair  seemed  armed 
against  his  hope. 

On  the  eastern  quarter  a  little  court  stood  back  from  the 
great  square.  A  fountain  played  in  the  centre,  the  water- 
jet,  thrown  from  a  mermaid's  bosom,  sparkling  like  a  plume 
of  gems.  The  walls  of  the  court  were  streaked  with  flame, 
its  casements  tawny  with  yellow  light.  The  breath  of  the 
place  was  as  the  breath  of  a  furnace ;  a  quaking  crowd 
filled  it,  driven  to  bay  by  the  swords  shining  in  the  square. 

Modred  was  a  tall  man,  a  pine  standing  amid  hollies. 
Staring  into  the  murk  of  the  court  wreathed  round  with  a 
garland  of  fire,  he  saw,  above  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  a 
woman  standing  on  the  steps  of  the  fountain,  leaning 
against  the  brim  of  the  basin.  Her  hair  blew  loose  from 


"  HIS   HANDS   WERE  GROPING   IN   THE   DARK 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  285 

under  her  open  bassinet ;  her  white  face  like  a  flower  was 
turned  mutely  to  the  night.  A  cuirass  glimmered  under 
her  cloud  of  hair.  Modred,  when  he  saw  her,  sent  up  a 
shout  like  that  of  a  wrecked  mariner  sighting  a  sail  over 
tumbling  waves.  He  tossed  his  sword,  charged  forward 
into  the  court,  began  to  buffet  his  way  towards  the  figure 
by  the  fountain. 

A  knot  of  soldiery,  taking  his  shout  as  a  rallying  cry, 
stormed  after  him  into  the  court.  There  was  a  great  crush 
in  the  entry,  men  tumbling  in,  and  using  their  swords  as 
poniards.  The  townsfolk  were  scattered  like  blown  leaves 
towards  the  burning  houses.  In  the  hot  turmoil  of  the 
moment  the  girl  was  swept  from  the  fountain  steps,  and 
carried  by  a  struggling  bunch  of  figures  towards  a  corner 
of  the  court.  Modred  lost  sight  of  her  for  the  moment,  as 
he  ploughed  forward  through  the  press. 

Flames  were  rushing  from  casement  and  from  roof;  the 
breath  of  the  place  was  as  the  breath  of  a  burning  desert. 
The  Gilderoy  rebels  pent  in  the  court  were  being  put  to 
the  sword.  Through  the  swirl  of  the  struggle  Yeoland's 
bassinet  shone  out  again.  Modred  saw  her  standing  alone, 
shading  her  face  with  her  hands  like  some  wild,  desperate 
thing,  knowing  not  whither  to  escape.  He  pushed  on, 
calling  her  by  name.  Before  he  could  reach  her  the 
gabled  front  of  a  house  undermined  by  the  fire  lurched  for- 
ward, tottered,  and  came  down  with  a  roar. 

A  blazing  brand  struck  Modred  on  the  helmet.  He 
staggered,  beheld  a  shower  of  sparks,  felt  a  scorching  wind 
upon  his  face.  The  stones  were  littered  with  crackling 
woodwork,  glowing  timber,  reeking  tiles.  He  was  stunned 
for  a  moment  as  by  the  blow  of  a  mace.  Flames  were 
leaping  heavenwards  from  the  houses,  wiping  out  the  mild 
faces  of  the  stars  with  their  ruthless  hands. 

With  a  great  cry  Modred  had  started  forward  like  a 
charging  bull.  He  dragged  aside  the  smouldering  wreck- 
age of  gable  and  roof,  tore  the  rafters  aside,  nor  heeded  the 
heat,  for  his  harness  helped  him.  His  great  body  quivered 


286  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

as  he  drew  the  girl  out  and  lifted  her  from  the  stones.  Her 
green  kirtle  was  alight,  and  with  the  strong  instinct  of  the 
moment  he  ran  with  her  to  the  fountain  and  plunged  her 
bodily  in  the  broad  basin. 

Panting,  he  bore  her  across  the  great  square  in  his  arms. 
Yeoland  was  making  a  little  moaning  whimper,  but  for  all 
else  lay  quiet  as  a  half-dead  bird.  Modred  dared  not  look 
into  her  face;  the  scent  of  her  scorched  hair  beat  up  into 
his  nostrils.  He  ground  his  teeth  and  cursed  Fate  as  he  ran. 
Was  it  for  this  that  they  had  bulwarked  Gambrevault  ? 


XLIV 

AUTUMN  had  cast  her  scarlet  girdle  about  Avalon ;  the 
woods  were  aflame  with  the  splendours  of  the  dying  year. 
The  oaks  stood  pavilions  of  green  and  gold ;  the  beeches 
domes  of  burnished  bronze  ;  from  their  silver  stems,  birches 
fountained  forth  showers  of  amber.  It  was  a  season  of 
crystal  skies,  of  cloud  galleons,  bulwarked  with  gold,  sailing 
the  wine-red  west.  Wild  Autumn  wandered  in  the  ruined 
woods,  her  long  hair  streaking  the  gilded  gloom,  her  voice 
elfin  under  the  stars.  Even  as  she  passed,  the  crisp  leaves 
swirled  and  fell,  a  pall  for  the  dying  year. 

Avalon  slumbered  amid  her  lilies  and  the  painted  woods, 
gorgeous  as  rare  tapestries,  curtaining  her  meadows.  Her 
mere  laughed  and  glimmered  amid  the  flags  and  lily  leaves, 
and  lapped  at  the  lichened  bases  of  her  towers.  Avalon 
had  arisen  from  her  desolation.  No  longer  were  her 
chambers  void,  her  gates  broken,  her  courts  the  haunt  of 
death.  The  bat  and  the  screech-owl  had  fled  from  her 
towers.  She  had  lifted  up  her  face  to  the  dawn,  like  a 
mourner  who  turns  from  the  grave  to  gaze  again  upon 
the  golden  face  of  joy. 

Time  with  his  scythe  of  silver  rested  on  the  hills.  The 
black  dragon  of  war  had  crawled  sated  to  the  labyrinths  of 
the  past ;  the  red  throne  of  ambition  had  been  consumed 
by  fire.  Peace  came  forth  with  her  white-faced  choir, 
swinging  their  golden  censers,  shedding  a  purple  perfume 
of  hope  over  the  blackened  land.  The  death  wolves  had 
slunk  to  the  wilds,  the  vultures  had  soared  from  the  fields. 

287 


288  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

A  splendid  calm  had  descended  upon  the  land,  a  silence 
as  of  heaven  after  the  hideous  masque  of  war.  The  cloud- 
wrack  and  thunder  had  passed  from  the  sky.  Men  heard 
again  the  voice  of  God. 

Six  weeks  had  gone  since  the  sacking  of  Gilderoy,  and 
dead  Duessa's  bower  in  Avalon  had  been  garnished  for  a 
second  mistress.  A  white  rose  lurked  in  a  whorl  of  green. 

O 

The  oriel,  with  its  re-jewelled  glass,  looked  out  upon  the 
transient  splendours  of  the  woods.  Tapestry  clothed  the 
walls,  showing  knights  and  maidens  wandering  through 
flowering  meads.  Rare  furniture  had  been  taken  from  the 
wrecked  palaces  of  Gilderoy  and  given  to  the  Lord  Flavian 
by  the  King. 

That  autumntide  Modred  played  seneschal  in  Avalon. 
He  had  cleansed  and  regarnished  the  castle  by  his  lord's 
command,  and  garrisoned  it  with  men  taken  from  the 
King's  own  guard.  Moreover,  in  Gilderoy  he  had  found 
an  old  man  groping  miserlike  amid  the  ruins,  filthy  and 
querulous.  The  pantaloon  when  challenged  had  confessed 
to  the  name  of  Aurelius,  and  the  profession  of  Medicine 
by  royal  patent  in  that  city.  The  townsfolk  had  spared 
his  pompous  neck  for  the  sake  of  the  benefits  of  his  craft. 
From  the  fat,  proud,  prosperous  worthy  he  had  cringed 
into  a  wrinkled,  flap-cheeked  beggar.  Him  Modred  had 
caught  like  a  veritable  pearl  from  the  gutter,  and  brought 
with  other  household  perquisites  into  Avalon. 

In  this  rich  refuge  Aurelius  awoke  as  from  an  unsavoury 
and  penurious  dream.  He  regained  some  of  his  plump,  sage 
swagger,  his  rotund  phraseology,  his  autocratic  dogmatism 
in  matters  ^Esculapian.  The  atmosphere  of  Avalon  agreed 
with  his  gullet.  Above  all  things,  he  was  held  to  be  a  man 
of  tact. 

In  dead  Duessa's  bower  there  still  hung  her  mirror  of 
steel,  whose  sheeny  surface  had  often  answered  to  her 
languorous  eyes  and  moon-white  face.  Duessa's  hair  had 
glimmered  before  this  good  friend's  flattery.  Gems,  neck- 
let, broideries,  and  tiars  had  sunk  deep  into  its  magic  mem- 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  289 

ory.  The  mirror  could  have  told  truths  and  expounded 
philosophies,  had  there  been  some  Merlin  to  conjure  with 
the  past. 

Aurelius  of  Gilderoy  played  the  necromancer  under 
more  rational  auspices.  He  was  a  benignant  soul,  subtle, 
sympathetic  to  the  brink  of  dotage.  His  professional  hint 
was  that  dead  Duessa's  mirror  should  be  exiled  from  the 
bower  of  Avalon.  The  oracle  spoke  with  much  benefi- 
cence as  to  the  delusions  of  the  sick,  and  the  demoniac  in- 
fluence of  melancholy  upon  the  brain.  Yet  his  wisdom 
was  withstood  in  the  very  quarter  where  he  had  trusted  to 
find  obedience  and  understanding.  Dead  Duessa's  mirror 
still  hung  in  the  Lady  Yeoland's  bower. 

One  calm  evening,  when  the  west  stood  a  great  arch  of 
ruddy  gold,  a  slim  girl  knelt  in  the  oriel  with  her  face 
buried  in  her  hands.  She  was  clad  in  a  gown  of  peacock 
blue,  fitting  close  to  her  slight  figure,  and  girded  about  the 
hips  with  a  girdle  of  green  leather.  Her  black  hair  poured 
upon  her  shoulders,  clouding  her  face,  yet  leaving  bare  the 
base  of  her  white  neck  where  it  curved  from  her  pearly 
shoulders.  She  drooped  her  head  as  she  knelt  before  the 
casement,  where  the  light  entered  to  her,  azure  and  green, 
vermilion  and  purple,  silver  and  rose. 

Anon  she  rose  softly,  turned  towards  the  mirror  hang- 
ing on  the  wall,  gazed  into  its  depths  with  a  species  of 
bewitched  fear.  One  glance  given,  she  turned  away  with 
a  shudder,  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  walked  the  room  in 
a  mute  frenzy  of  self-horror.  Presently  she  knelt  again 
before  the  window-seat,  struggled  in  prayer,  turning  her  face 
piteously  to  an  open  casement  where  the  golden  woods 
stood  under  the  red  wand  of  the  west.  The  light  waned  a 
little.  She  rose  up  again  from  her  knees,  shook  her  hair 
forward  so  that  it  bathed  her  face,  trod  slowly  towards  the 
mirror,  stared  at  herself  therein. 

The  crystal  bowl  was  broken,  the  ivory  throne  dis- 
honoured !  The  blush  of  the  rose  had  faded,  the  gleam  of 
the  opal  fallen  to  dust.  Youth  and  its  sapphire  shield  had 


2QO  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

passed  into  the  gloom  of  dreams.  The  stars  and  the  moon 
were  magical  no  more. 

She  wavered  away  from  the  window  to  a  dark  corner, 
hid  her  face  in  the  arras.  The  same  wild  cry  rang  like  a 
piteous  requiem  through  her  brain.  The  man  lived  and 
loved  her,  and  she  had  come  to  this  !  Burning  Gilderoy 
had  stolen  her  beauty,  made  her  a  mockery  of  her  very  self. 
God,  that  Fate  should  compel  her  to  lift  her  scars  to  the 
eyes  of  love  ! 

In  the  gathering  dusk,  she  went  again  to  the  mirror, 
peered  therein,  with  strained  eyes  and  a  tremor  of  the  lip. 
The  twilight  softened  somewhat  the  bitterness  of  truth. 
She  shook  her  hair  forward,  saw  her  eyes  gleam,  fingered 
her  white  throat,  and  smiled  a  little.  Presently  she  lit  a 
taper,  held  it  with  wavering  hand,  peered  at  the  steel  panel 
once  again.  She  cried  out,  jerked  away,  and  crushed  the 
frail  light  under  her  foot. 

Darkness  increased,  seeming  to  clothe  her  misery.  She 
wandered  through  the  room,  twisting  her  black  hair  about 
her  wrist,  moaning  and  darting  piteous  glances  into  the 
gloom.  Once  she  took  a  poniard  from  a  table,  fingered 
the  point,  pressed  her  hand  over  her  heart,  threw  the  knife 
away  with  a  gesture  of  despair.  On  the  morrow  the  man 
would  come  to  her.  What  would  she  see  in  those  grey 
eyes  of  his  ?  Horror  and  loathing,  ah  God,  not  that ! 

Anon  she  grew  calmer  and  less  distressed,  prayed 
awhile,  lit  a  lamp,  delved  in  an  ambry  built  in  the  wall. 
That  night  her  hands  worked  zealously,  while  the  moon 
shimmered  on  the  mere,  setting  silver  wrinkles  on  its  agate 
face.  The  woods  were  still  and  solemn  as  death,  deep 
with  the  voiceless  sympathy  of  the  hour.  Black  lace  hung 
upon  Yeoland's  hands ;  the  sable  thread  ran  through  and 
through  ;  her  white  fingers  quivered  in  the  light  of  the 
lamp. 

Her  few  hours  of  sleep  that  night  were  wild  and  feverish, 
smitten  through  with  piteous  dreams.  On  the  morrow  she 
bound  a  black  fillet  about  her  brows,  and  let  the  dusky 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS  29 1 

mask  of  lace  fall  over  face  and  bosom.  She  prayed  a  long 
while  before  her  crucifix,  but  she  did  not  gaze  again  into 
dead  Duessa's  mirror. 

That  same  evening  Modred  the  seneschal  blasphemed 
Aurelius  in  the  garden  of  Avalon.  The  man  of  the  sword 
was  in  no  easy  humour;  his  convictions  emerged  from  his 
hairy  mouth  with  a  vigour  that  was  not  considerate. 

"  Dotard,  you  have  no  more  wit  than  a  pelican." 

"  My  lord,  I  embrace  truth." 

"  Damn  truth  ;  what  eyes  have  you  for  a  goodly  close  !  " 

Aurelius  spread  his  hands  with  the  air  of  a  martyr. 

"  The  physician,  my  lord,"  he  said,  "  should  ever  deserve 
the  confidence  of  his  patron." 

For  retort,  Modred  shouldered  him  into  the  thick  of  a 
rose  bush. 

"  Pedant,"  quoth  he,  "  crab-apple,  say  a  word  on  this 
matter,  and  I  will  drown  you  in  the  moat." 

Aurelius  gathered  his  robes  and  still  ruffled  it  like  an 
autocrat. 

"  Barbarity,  sir,  is  the  argument  of  fools." 

"  Bag  of  bones,  rot  in  your  wrinkled  hide,  keep  your 
froth  for  sick  children." 

«  Sir ! " 

"  You  have  as  much  soul  as  a  rat  in  a  sewer.  Come, 
list  to  me,  breathe  a  word  of  this,  and  I'll  starve  you  in 
our  topmost  turret.  Leave  truth  alone,  gaffer,  with  your 
rheumy,  broken-kneed  wisdom.  You  have  no  wit  in  these 
matters,  no,  not  a  crust.  Blurt  a  word,  and  I  pack  you 
off  to  grovel  in  Gilderoy." 

The  man  of  physic  shrugged  his  shoulders,  seemed 
grieved  and  incredulous,  prepared  to  wash  his  hands  of  the 
whole  business. 

"  Have  your  way,  my  lord ;  you  are  too  hot-blooded  for 
me  ;  I  will  meddle  no  further." 

"  Ha,  Master  Gallipot,  you  shall  acknowledge  anon 
that  T  have  a  soul." 


XLV 

TRUMPETS  were  blowing  in  Avalon  of  the  Twelve 
Towers,  echoing  through  the  valley  where  the  sun  shone 
upon  the  woods,  the  sere  leaves  glittering  like  golden  byz- 
ants  as  they  fell.  The  sky  was  a  clear  canopy,  drawn  as 
blue  silk  from  height  to  height,  tenting  the  green  meadows. 
Avalon's  towers  rose  black  and  strong  above  the  sheen  of 
her  quiet  waters. 

From  Gambrevault  came  the  Lord  Flavian  to  claim  his 
wife  once  more.  Through  the  brief  days  of  autumn 
Aurelius  of  Gilderoy  had  decreed  him  an  exile  from  the 
Isle  of  Orchards,  pleading  for  the  girl's  frail  breath  and  her 
lily  soul  that  might  fade  if  set  too  soon  in  the  noon  of  love. 
In  Gambrevault  the  Lord  Flavian  had  moped  like  a  pris- 
oned falcon,  listening  to  the  far  cry  of  the  war,  hungry  for 
the  touch  of  a  woman's  hand.  Modred  had  snatched  the 
Madonna  of  the  Pine  Forest  from  burning  Gilderoy.  She 
had  been  throned  at  last  above  the  tides  of  violence  and 
wrong. 

That  day  the  Lord  Flavian  rode  in  state  for  Avalon, 
even  as  an  Arthurian,  prince  coming  with  splendour  from 
some  high-souled  quest.  The  woods  had  blazoned  their 
banners  for  his  march.  Trumpets  hailed  him  from  the 
towers  and  battlements.  The  sun,  like  a  great  patriarch, 
smoothed  his  gold  beard  and  beamed  upon  the  world. 

Over  the  bridge  and  beneath  the  gate,  Modred  led  his 
master's  horse.  The  garrison  had  gathered  in  the  central 
court ;  they  tossed  their  swords,  and  cheered  for  Gambre- 
vault. Trumpets  set  the  wild  woods  wailing.  Bombards 
thundered  from  the  towers. 

292 


LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

In  the  court,  amid  the  panoply  of  arms,  Flavian  dis- 
mounted, took  Modred's  hand,  leant  upon  the  great  man's 
shoulder. 

"  Old  friend,  is  she  well  ?  " 

"  Ah,  sire,  youth  turns  to  youth." 

"  Let  my  minstrels  play  below  the  stair  some  old  song 
of  Tristan  and  Iseult.  And  now  I  go  to  her.  Lead  on." 

In  dead  Duessa's  bower  a  drooping  figure  knelt  before  a 
crucifix  in  prayer.  Foreshadowings  of  misery  and  woe 
were  stirring  in  the  woman's  heart.  She  had  heard  the 
bray  of  trumpets  on  the  towers,  the  thunder  of  cannon,  the 
shouts  of  strong  men  cheering  in  the  court.  She  heard  lute, 
viol,  and  flute  strike  up  from  afar  a  mournful  melody  sweet 
with  an  antique  woe. 

Time  seemed  to  crawl  like  a  wounded  snake  in  the 
grass.  The  figures  on  the  arras  gestured  and  grimaced ; 
the  jewelled  glass  in  the  oriel  burnt  in  through  the  dark 
lattice  of  her  veil.  She  heard  footsteps  on  the  stairs ; 
Modred's  deep  voice,  joyous  and  strangely  tender.  A  hand 
fumbled  at  the  latch.  Starting  up,  she  ran  towards  the 
shadows,  and  hid  her  face  in  the  folds  of  the  arras. 

The  door  had  closed  and  all  was  silent. 

"Yeoland." 

The  cry  smote  through  her  like  joy  barbed  with  bitter- 
ness. She  shuddered  and  caught  her  breath,  swayed  as  she 
stood  with  the  arras  hiding  her  face. 

"  Wife,  wife." 

With  sudden  strength,  compelling  herself,  she  peered 
round,  and  saw  a  figure  standing  in  the  shadow,  a  man  with 
white  face  turned  towards  the  light,  his  hands  stretched  out 
like  a  little  child's.  She  stood  motionless,  breathing  fast 
with  short,  convulsive  breaths,  her  lips  quivering  beneath 
her  veil. 

"  I  am  here,"  she  said  to  him,  husky,  tremulous,  and 
faint. 

"  Yeoland." 

«  Ah ! " 


294  LOVE  AMONG    THE  RUINS 

"  I  hear  your  voice ;  come  near  to  me." 

She  wavered  forward  three  steps  into  the  room,  stood 
staring  strangely  at  the  figure  by  the  door. 

"  Yeoland,  are  you  near  ?  " 

«  My  God  !  " 

"  I  give  myself  to  you,  a  broken  man.  Ah,  where  are 
your  hands  ?  " 

Sudden  comprehension  seized  her;  she  went  very  near 
to  him,  gazing  in  his  face. 

«  Speak." 

"Wife,  I  shall  never  see  the  sky  again,  nor  watch  the 
stars  at  night,  nor  the  moon,  nor  the  sea.  I  shall  never 
look  on  Avalon,  her  green  woods  and  her  lilies,  and  her 
sleeping  mere.  I  shall  never  behold  your  face  again.  I  am 
blind,  I  am  blind." 

She  gave  a  great  cry,  tore  the  veil  from  her  face,  and 
cast  it  far  from  her. 

"  Husband,  I  come  to  you." 

His  hands  were  groping  in  the  dark,  groping  like  souls 
that  sought  the  light.  She  went  near  him,  weeping,  caught 
his  fingers,  kissed  them  with  her  lips.  The  man's  arms 
circled  her ;  she  hung  therein,  and  buried  her  head  in  his 
bosom. 

"  My  love,  my  own." 

"  I  am  blind  ;  your  hair  bathes  my  face." 

"Ah,  you  are  blind,  mine  eyes  are  yours,  and  I  your 
wife  will  be  your  sun.  No  more  pain  shall  compass  you ; 
there  shall  be  no  more  grieving,  no  more  tears." 

"  Yeoland." 

"  Husband." 

"  God  in  heaven,  I  give  Thee  thanks  for  this." 


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